Aunt Nadine suddenly shook her head and her face brightened. The tears disappeared.
“I never thought you’d come back here,” she said. “That day you left to go learn how to work in the FBI, you were determined. You wanted to get out of here. I had hoped when I brought you here to give you a good home that you could forget what happened.” She shook her head. “I was only fooling myself, yet here you are again. And look at you. I couldn’t be prouder of what you’ve done with your life. What you’ve become. First FBI and now a detective for the county.” She gasped and locked eyes with him. “The girl you left behind that day, what was her name?”
Of course, Aunt Nadine would have to remember. “Terra. Robert Vandine’s granddaughter.”
“Did you ever talk to her again? Make things right?”
ELEVEN
Chance dragged himself out of bed and shook off the strange dream. One more moment of fooling himself into believing the plane crash had only been a dream couldn’t hurt, could it? His head still pounded. Before he’d gone to bed, he’d made it to the convenience store next door to grab junk food and sodas and pain relievers.
His ribs still ached, but he figured he would live, and his most serious injury had been to his head. Even that was slightly—only slightly—better this morning.
He thought through the last forty-eight hours.
The airstrip.
He’d never made it. He was supposed to have met someone there, though he had no idea whom. Really, it was a handoff and not a meeting. A package drop.
He should at least go to the airstrip and start there, but he no longer had a package to drop.
Chance counted his cash. He had one more night in this motel and then he would need cash. But maybe he would have answers and his package returned by then. Unless the authorities had the package.
He pressed his palms against his eyes. But no. Jim had found him, and Jim had been murdered. He’d bet his left arm Jim had been murdered for the package. Those who knew its value would commit murder.
And to that end, Chance had to find the person behind the delivery. The person who’d been blackmailing him all these years and who’d set up this particular delivery as if to get some sick retribution.
On the burner phone, he called for a cab to pick him up. He stuck his head under the faucet and shoved his wet hair back. Rinsed his mouth. One glance in the mirror, and he wished he hadn’t. He looked like he’d climbed out of a hole that had been drilled straight from hell.
Fifteen minutes later, he asked the cabbie to take him to the airstrip in the woods.
“I’m not familiar with it.”
Chance scratched his head. How did he explain? “Out by the old Blankenship place. That old flour mill that was turned into a restaurant that failed. It’s out there somewhere. Can you just drive? I’ll direct you.”
Half an hour later, Chance got out of the cab near the smallest of the buildings at the end of the airstrip. Private or public, he wasn’t even sure. There was no tower. He leaned in through the passenger side window of the cab. “Wait here. I won’t be long. I’ll pay you when I’m done.”
The cabbie frowned but had no choice if he wanted his money.
Chance hadn’t realized he had a limp. His leg started hurting. Maybe the drugs he received during his hospital stay had masked it before and now the pain was only beginning to ignite. Accident injuries could often appear hours or days later. What more could he expect?
He limped toward the building and found the door locked. Chance glanced back at the cabbie, who watched him. The man turned away as if he didn’t want to be complicit in Chance’s crimes or a witness to be dealt with later.
With his good leg, Chance kicked in the door. Worth it. A man had been murdered.
Had the authorities already been to this airstrip or searched the building? Were they watching now to see who showed up? He hadn’t thought that far ahead. Difficult to think clearly with a pounding head and now an aching leg to add to his throbbing ribs.
The building had a counter and chairs like some sort of short-term waiting area or meeting place. Would he have met someone here in the building if he had landed? He hadn’t been instructed to leave the package here, but maybe he would have received a call with those instructions.
Had someone been waiting here for him to land? He closed his eyes and waited like that would conjure up an image. Who was the person who was supposed to have received the hazardous package?
Had Jim been waiting here for the airplane? Heard the plane, then saw him go down? The crash site wasn’t all that far. Jim had probably driven up the forest road to help Chance. But like Chance, Jim would have hidden the package from authorities, or he might have already delivered it.
Did Jim’s contact kill him?
Too many thoughts fought for space in Chance’s mind and confused him. He shook off the madness and focused.
He couldn’t know if it had been Jim or someone else who had waited on him here. Chance moved around the ancient counter. On the floor behind the counter he found a tiny strip of paper with a phone number written in blue ink. The writing looked masculine, though he was no expert. He folded the slip of paper and stuck it in his pocket. The phone number could mean everything or nothing. Still, his heart pounded as if he’d hit the jackpot.
With a bounce in his good leg, he made his way out of the small building.
The cab was gone.
TWELVE
The next morning, Jack waited in his warm vehicle at the Maverick Trailhead. Terra should be here at any moment, and they would hike up the trail and see what was what. As he waited, he wished he could forget his aunt’s question last night.
Had he made things right with Terra?
Too much time had passed already. They both had moved on. Then why did his aunt’s words gnaw at him? In some ways, sure, he’d moved on. But in other ways, his heart and mind ushered him to the past as if he were still there. It was in the small nuances—the way he reacted to Terra’s smile or her slightest frown. And he’d spent only a few hours with her for the first time in years. This investigation—and his insane desire to somehow “make it right,” as Aunt Nadine had put it—could mean many more hours with her.
Terra’s white SUV pulled in behind him and cut off his thoughts. Thank you, God.
He climbed out, tugged on his jacket, then headed for Terra. The morning was cold, but the day would warm up soon.
“Morning,” he said.
Terra closed the distance, carrying two thermoses. She handed one to him. “Gramps has a special blend. He roasts his own beans, you know.”
He squinted at her. “I didn’t know. I’m thinking that since he roasts his own coffee and you make the most incredible pies, you guys should open up a shop or something.” He eyed the thermos with uncertainty. “Is it any good?”
“You tell me.” Her conspiratorial grin could have meant anything.
He unscrewed the cap, sniffed the warm brew, then shrugged. He took a sip and nearly dropped the thermos. “Ouch!”
“What? Did you burn your tongue?”
“It must have been boiling when you left.”
“I wanted to make sure it was still hot by the time I got here.”
“Thanks.” Since she’d been so thoughtful, he’d have to drink the coffee. He left the cap off so the air would cool it down a bit.
Terra sipped from hers while it was still way too hot and turned her face east to the mountains and the rising sun, the Maverick Trailhead behind them. They remained quiet as they sipped coffee and soaked in the fresh mountain air and picturesque view.
Jack had a beautiful view all his own. Terra’s thick brown hair was clipped up. He couldn’t help but think back to Aunt Nadine’s question—one he hadn’t been able to adequately answer without upsetting her.
Had he made things right?
No, and the opportunity to do so had long passed. But something inside him wanted to make it up to Terra. How, he had no idea.
I
f he had stayed in Montana with Terra back then rather than skipping town and accepting a job with the FBI, where would they be now? Terra had known about his dream, but neither of them had known how quickly that dream could happen. His major had been in information technology, and the feds snatched him right up.
He’d wanted her more than he’d wanted anything else in his life, but Terra came from a family of heroes. Jack had a dark family history. She probably thought he was a coward, but leaving her that day was one of the bravest things he’d ever done. She would never understand that he did it for her. He had to change his legacy. Prove that he wouldn’t be anything like his father. He’d been driven to prove himself so he could finally measure up, but to whom, he wasn’t sure he even knew anymore.
He blew out a breath. If he’d stayed here, he didn’t think they would be together as a couple because Jack hadn’t believed in himself enough.
“We should get going,” she said.
He realized he’d been staring at her, caught up in his thoughts. “Looks like scattered thunderstorms today, and one seems to be developing right over us.”
“That could wash away evidence, if there’s any to find,” she said.
“A county evidence tech already searched here at the trailhead.”
“But you wanted me to go with you to search.”
“Yes. We don’t know if Jim did more than stand next to his vehicle here when he was murdered. We’ll learn if any blood particles were found.”
“Okay, then let’s go.” She held out her hand to take his thermos.
He held on to it. “I’m not done.”
“You don’t want to carry that, do you?”
“Good point.”
He chugged the rest of the still painfully hot coffee, and she laughed at his efforts to conceal the pain and awful burnt taste, of which he was no fan. He handed over the thermos and she stuck it back in her vehicle, along with hers.
She secured a backpack. “Where’s your pack?”
He scratched an itch under his eye. “I didn’t think we’d be gone that long.”
“Always take a pack with supplies with you into the forest.” She started forward, and at the trailhead she gestured for him to lead.
He found it funny that he was spending an inordinate amount of time on trails with Terra, just like they had before. Nature loving was in her blood.
“So, tell me what you’ve learned so far,” she said.
“We’re still interviewing friends and family.”
“And the pilot?” Her breathing remained steady even though they were hiking an incline.
“Haven’t caught up with him yet.”
“Why did he leave the hospital?” she asked.
“That’s a good question. The attending physician explained that he had expected Mr. Carter to remain at least another night.”
“He just woke up and realized . . . what? What would make a man leave without discharging?”
“He couldn’t have killed Jim, so that’s not it. As far as others, we’re interviewing people Jim met with to sell insurance, his clients, and anyone else he worked with. The case is a priority, which brings me to this. Sheriff Gibson is deputizing you for the course of this investigation.”
Terra stopped behind him. He stopped too and turned to look at her.
“We’re pooling all the resources. If you come across a suspect during the hunt for a killer, you have the authority of the sheriff’s offices to arrest them. You’ll be read into all the information.”
She angled her head. “My ASAC signed off on my participation, but this is even better. Is the sheriff also deputizing the forest service LEOs?”
“Yes. At least while we’re searching for the murderer. Henry tells me it’s not uncommon to cover all the bases in working with the forest service on an important investigation. Oh, and thanks for not sending Haymaker in your place this morning.”
She laughed. “You’re welcome. And . . . Henry?”
“Sheriff Gibson. I’m supposed to call him Sheriff Gibson, but it’s hard when everyone else around here calls him Henry.” Jack turned and continued hiking. Terra followed.
When she said nothing more, he continued. “We’re still waiting to get a time of death, but we have a window. His vehicle was parked at the trailhead within that time frame. We’re looking for evidence. Blood. Murder weapon.”
“A cabin,” she said.
“A cabin?”
“Yes. We’ve hiked about three quarters of a mile, according to my watch, but if we keep going for the full mile, the cabin should be just over a half mile off trail to the northwest.”
He paused to look at her.
“What? You act as if you’re surprised to learn that I actually do have something to contribute.”
“No, it’s not that.” Sure. Maybe it was.
“Right. But we can’t know if he hiked this trail or headed for that cabin.”
“Was he having an affair? Was he blackmailing someone or being blackmailed? The list goes on.”
“I think you were right when you said you had the feeling it’s complicated. A plane crashes. Jim reports seeing the plane, and even makes his way to the downed plane—it was on a forest road, so he could have driven there. Within hours, Jim is murdered.”
“And the pilot flees his hospital room.”
“Wait.” He thought he spotted a cabin through the trees, though it wasn’t easy to see. If he took even one step, it was gone again. “There it is.”
Jack stepped off the trail and over tree trunks and fallen branches into an area carpeted with pine needles.
“The cabin is part of the forest service’s Recreation Residence Program,” she said, “otherwise known as ‘cabin in the woods.’ In this case, the cabin is isolated.”
“I’m not following you.”
“The cabins are special use permit issued for twenty years at a time for personal use.” Terra pushed on toward the cabin, and Jack kept pace.
At the door, she said, “Let’s see if anyone is home.”
He pressed his palm against his weapon and knocked on the door. “Detective Tanner and Special Agent Connors here. We’d like to ask some questions.”
No one responded.
They hiked around the cabin. Curtains prevented them from seeing inside. At the back, a curtain hung at an angle, revealing a portion of the inside of the cabin.
Terra gasped. “Wait a minute.”
She moved to the door and tried it, but it was locked.
“What is it?” he asked. “What do you see?”
“Shelves. Mostly empty. But I spotted a couple of Native American artifacts, pots actually, so contraband . . . probable cause.”
“They could be completely legal,” he said.
“Granted. They could be. But someone was murdered, and the artifacts are tucked away here in an isolated cabin, so I’m leaning toward illegal.”
He produced the key he’d found on the floor at Jim’s house. “We need to know what it’s for.”
He stuck it in and unlocked the door.
Terra gasped. “It worked. I can’t believe it worked. This cabin is Jim’s, after all.”
“Or it belonged to someone else and he had a key he thought he kept hidden from his wife in his wallet.”
Terra started to step inside. He stretched out his arm to block her.
“Pauline gave me permission to look, but since she claimed not to know what the key was for, I can’t even be sure this cabin belongs to Jim and that she has the right to give that permission. I’m going to call about a warrant to cover my bases.”
“But what about probable cause?”
“These aren’t exigent circumstances. It isn’t so urgent to justify a warrantless search. We have time to get the warrant, so let’s make sure the evidence we find can’t be challenged in court.”
THIRTEEN
Terra followed Jack away from the cabin until he found a signal, then he made the call requesting a warrant. He eyed her the
entire time he spoke into the cell.
He ended the call and tucked his cell away. “I need to stand here and wait for a call back. Or we could head back to our vehicles and wait there. You know, it could take ten minutes or hours.”
“You stand there, and I’ll look around to see if I come across any ‘anomalies,’ as you put it earlier.” But she’d already come across one.
“Or you could stay here and talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking. You deal with this artifact business more often than I do. What can you tell me?”
She exhaled. The temps were starting to warm up, and she shrugged out of her pack and jacket. Terra grabbed water and tossed a bottle to Jack.
That storm had blown over without dumping rain on them. But thunder sounded in the distance.
“On my last assignment with the National Park Service, I worked undercover. We were working in the four corners—where Utah, Colorado, New Mexico, and Arizona come together.”
“Anasazi. Native American pueblo people.” Jack flashed his dimpled grin.
Terra waited a few heartbeats, then said, “You know more than you let on, Jack Tanner.”
“I should be honest with you. Aunt Nadine has a book on her coffee table.”
Interesting. “People have taken arrowheads and more home for decades. We know that. Although depending on where and how the item was taken, it’s probably still illegal. Our sting operation had to do with things taken and sold on the black market. They were pilfering from historic ruins, selling to collectors.”
“And you think Jim could be involved in something similar?”
“I don’t know. It’s complicated.”
“That, I already know.” He swatted at an insect.
“Most pothunting, as we call it, is in the southwest. In Jim’s cabin, I spotted a couple of items on that shelf through the window. Contemporary Native American art brings in millions, even billions of dollars. But a big problem exists in that people who buy the art might not understand if they are buying something old or something new. Something legal or something illegal—the new laws are curbing even the purchase of contemporary Native American art.”
Present Danger Page 6
