“You could make your own trail, I guess. Never seen anybody do it, and I’ve been camping here since long before the Sugar Loaf Dam was completed.”
Connor’s gut told him whatever happened to Amber didn’t begin here. “If you had to guess, why do you think she’s still up there?”
Bob balanced his elbow against an arm slung across his chest and scratched at his chin, which clearly hadn’t seen a razor in at least a week. “I figure she finally found that cache of bones she’s been searching for since she was a kid. Either that or she found evidence that old mine has more silver in it. Don’t think she’s come to any harm.”
“If she found a cache of bones, it better be the find of the century,” Olivia said. “If not, I’ll kick her butt from here to Denver.”
Connor handed Bob a business card. “Here’s my contact information. If you’ll give me your phone number, I’ll call you as soon as we have news.”
Bob slapped the card in his palm. “There’s no reception up there.”
“I have a sat sleeve on my iPhone. Reception shouldn’t be a problem.” Bob gave him a cell number and Connor plugged it into his contacts. “I do have a question you should be able to answer. If Amber is injured and we can’t get her down off the mountain, how far away is a rescue team?”
“The air ambulance and SAR would come from Denver. They can land at 14,000 feet, which is higher than you’re going. They could be at the Hughes mine within an hour,” Bob said.
“Sounds like you’ve used them before.”
“A few times. People mix stupidity with alcohol and drugs and think they’re invincible,” Bob said.
Olivia unlocked the back of the horse trailer and lowered the ramp. “I can assure you, Amber isn’t at the cabin taking drugs. She won’t take them when she’s sick. Why would she take them for recreation?” Olivia brought Cochise out and went back in for Doc. “If we miss Amber on the trail, and she shows up here, ask her to call Connor’s phone.”
Connor raised the ramp and locked up the trailer. “If you don’t hear from me within twenty-four hours,” Connor said, “call the number on my business card and tell them to send the cavalry.”
3
The Present, Hughes Cabin, Colorado—Connor
After riding through the quiet backcountry, they veered onto a less traveled path and wound around the shoulder of a hill. The air seemed heavier compared to Denver, full of moisture and scented with spruce needles and cedar. Olivia turned in her saddle and waved to Connor. He was lagging a few yards behind her, enjoying the view and the scenery. He applied gentle pressure with his calves and the horse moved forward.
“It’s beautiful,” he said.
“Yes, it is. This is the only way to really see the mountains,” she said.
He wasn’t referring to the beauty of the mountains, which was undeniable. His attention had been mostly focused on her, watching the way she gently swayed in the saddle as her horse worked the hills.
“How much farther to the cabin?”
“Thirty minutes or so.”
“If you can’t drive up here, how do you get supplies? You’re limited to how much you can carry with you.”
“The same way it’s been done for over a century. Pack mules, but I imagine MacKlenna Corporation would use a helicopter.”
Connor laughed. “It crossed my mind when we were loading the horses that it would save time if we flew up here.”
She lifted her hands toward the sky. “And miss all this beautiful scenery?”
“It’s just as beautiful from the air.”
“Maybe, but you can’t smell the pine and fresh air, or hear the musical trickle of water rippling over stones in a cold, mountain stream, or get the sense of how high the mountains rise above the surrounding landscapes.”
“But we could get to the cabin in under thirty minutes instead of two hours.”
She turned in the saddle, gripped the edge of the cantle. “Then why didn’t you suggest it?”
“For the same reason I never went into another police precinct and told them how to do their job. You’re the expert here. It was possible there was no place for a helicopter to land. After what Bob said, I know a landing is possible. I’m sorry I didn’t suggest using one.”
Olivia glanced up and studied the sky. “A storm’s coming. If Amber needs medical care, a helicopter would be grounded. With horses, if we need to get her down the mountain, we can. And besides, if we have to search for her, we’ll be going places a helicopter can’t go.”
“Just to be clear… If I’d suggested a helicopter, you would have nixed the idea?”
“I would have considered it.” She paused before adding, “and then I would have nixed it.” Her mouth quirked up at one corner. “Agreeing to ride up to the cabin told me a lot about your priorities. To you, people come first. Your time comes second. I appreciate that.”
The breeze lifted her hair like lover’s hands, brushing it aside so her neck could be kissed. She turned up her jacket’s collar and adjusted her hat back farther on her head to keep her hair from flying about.
He forced himself to stop fantasizing about kissing her neck. “Tell me about the mules. Do you rent them in town, or what?”
She snapped her reins lightly. “We buy most of our supplies in Leadville. Then we rent a couple of mules for the weekend and haul up what we need. Amber has been bringing freeze-dried food up for the past few years. There’s enough at the cabin to feed a large family for an entire winter. We use the mules to bring up feed for the animals, garden supplies, lanterns, candles. Supplies like that.”
“Who chops the wood?”
“Amber and I both know how to split and stack firewood. But a man comes up from Leadville twice a month to cut more wood for the seasoning pile and do a few chores.”
His cop mind could weave dozens of scenarios around a woman alone in the wilderness and a man from town with an ax—all of them bloody as hell. “Is it the same man each time?”
Olivia reined in her horse and a look of horror flashed across her face, then vanished as quickly. “I know where you’re going with that, and you can forget it. Gus has been coming up here for thirty years. He’s trustworthy and has never sent anyone else to do what he’s hired to do. He mends fences, cuts wood, keeps the place clean and critter-free. He’s a little slow, but he would never hurt anyone, especially Amber.”
From Connor’s experience, people acted out of character and committed acts of cruelty all the time. Even nice men like Gus. A crow made an ugly squawk, like something had jerked its leg. An omen? God, he hoped not.
“When’s the last time you talked to old Gus?”
“I don’t talk to him. Amber does. And she hasn’t mentioned having any problems.”
The higher they climbed the darker the clouds turned, and the more Connor worried that Handyman Gus might have lost his cool.
They rode out of the woods and stopped at the fringe of another clearing. Ahead, nestled at the tree line, stood a picturesque log cabin with a wraparound porch, a small barn, and an enclosed square-pole corral.
“Is that it?” Now he understood what upscale camping truly meant.
“Yes, and I told you it was quaint.”
He laughed. “This ain’t quaint. Quaint is a cabin in the Smokies with a hot tub.”
She gave him an annoyed look. “There’s no hot tub, and there’s no smoke coming from the chimney either.”
At the corral, a bay stamped restlessly, lifting his head, ears pricked. “Is that Amber’s horse?”
“That’s Bud, and he knows we’re here. He and Doc have been together a long time.” Olivia kneed her horse and clicked. “Let’s go, boy.”
Connor caught the reins. “Hold up. If someone is in there with Amber, we can’t go charging in.”
Olivia stared at the cabin and released a perturbed breath that puffed out through her teeth. “The way I see it, I rearranged my schedule and inconvenienced a client. If she’s with someone, I intend to ruin her interlude as pay
back.”
“Answer this question: If Amber met someone she wanted to spend alone time with, would she skip a court appearance to do it?”
Olivia shifted in the saddle. Doc snorted and swished his tail. Either he was keeping off flies or he was agitated that he couldn’t go visit Bud.
“Amber takes her job seriously. She’d never do that.”
“That’s what I thought.” Connor didn’t let go of the reins while he considered their options. “Amber could be with someone…” He had to be careful here. He didn’t want to scare Olivia, but he wanted her to be aware of the possible danger. “Someone not of her own choosing.”
Olivia’s face went chalky white. “You’re overreacting. Nothing like that has ever happened around here.” Although she said it, he could see doubt in her darkened eyes. She gazed out over the clearing and slumped in the saddle. “Okay. What do you want me to do?”
“Nothing. Other than stay right here.” He let go of the reins and dismounted. “I’m going to circle around and approach from the back. How many windows are there?”
“Two in the front, two in the back, and one on each side.”
“Are they curtained?” His horse’s nose bumped his shoulder blade.
“Yes, but I doubt they’re closed. The two in the back are in the bedrooms. The right side is the kitchen. A large loom fills the area next to the window on the left side.”
Connor tied the reins to a dwarfed pine that couldn’t decide whether it was a tree or a bramble. Its coarse needle-shaped leaves trembled in the breeze. The horse shifted his weight and settled down to probing the withered grass bundled around the pine.
Connor unholstered and chamber-checked his Glock.
“You’re expecting trouble, aren’t you?” she asked.
“I always expect trouble.” He had a fully loaded magazine, one in the chamber, and an extra magazine in his pocket. “I need you to do exactly what I say.” He unlocked his phone and handed it to her. “If something goes wrong, get the hell out of here. Call the Leadville sheriff and my brother Rick as soon as you are a safe distance away. His number is on the recent call list.”
“What can he do? He’s not even in Colorado.”
“He can get here soon enough.” It would probably be too late for Connor and Amber, but Rick wouldn’t stop until he found the killer.
“Let me go with you.”
He grasped her stirrup to keep her in the saddle. “You’re my ace in the hole. If something is going down in there and I get caught, too, you’ll be the only hope of rescue. Don’t let your stubbornness compromise your sister’s life.”
She jutted out her jaw. She didn’t like it, probably didn’t like him either at the moment. That didn’t matter. “If there’s trouble, take Doc with you. I don’t see another horse. If you’re chased, they’ll have to ride Bud, and saddling him will take time. You’ll have a head start.”
“I don’t like this,” she said testily.
“If you did, I’d wonder about you. Stay alert and be ready to ride.”
He touched his hat, wheeled around, and headed into the aspens. Whispers from the wind, coming off the mountains, made shushing noises through the trees. Every hunting skill McBain had taught him, Connor used now as he circled the perimeter of the clearing, walking lightly through the dead leaves and dried branches so he wouldn’t startle the birds, or worse, announce his presence to someone hiding on the grounds or inside the cabin.
Within a few yards of where he’d left Olivia, he reached a stream of frothy water, roaring to be set free from its banks as it rushed by. There was no way around it. He’d have to test the advertisement that claimed his boots were waterproof. The icy water sprayed his legs. When he reached the opposite bank, he heard a branch snap. He ducked behind a tree, his gun secured in a two-handed grip. He studied the shadows. When he didn’t see any movement, he continued toward the rear of the cabin, passing the corral and the barn, baled hay visible in the loft. There were no human footprints on the well-worn muddy path from the side of the cabin into the woods.
The two small windows on the back wall were closed, but thin cotton curtains were pushed to the sides, allowing strips of light to filter into each room. As soon as he moved close enough, he’d be able to see inside. The cabin was constructed of hand-hewed logs with square notches and thick chinking between them. Many of the logs had hewing marks from the broadax. There was no denying the age of the cabin, or the love it had been given over the last century to keep it in fine shape.
The joints in his knees popped when he crouched and snuck up close to the windows and listened. There were no creaking boards or murmured voices. No groans or squeaky bedsprings. He sniffed. No lingering stench of death and violence.
Slowly, he raised his head and peeked over the windowsill and into a small bedroom with twin brass beds, both neatly made. He checked the other rear window. The second bedroom had a double bed covered with a patchwork quilt. A washstand with a porcelain bowl, an armoire in the corner, and a faded hand-hooked rug were the only other furnishings. Both rooms were tidy and clean.
He moved to the window on the side, and although he stayed crouched and kept his outstretched gun hand secured in the palm of the other, his gut told him no one was inside.
The kitchen area had a sink with a pitcher-style pump, a long table with two benches, a pie safe, and a cast iron wood stove. The rest of the room was filled with assorted small tables, a leather sofa, two rockers facing a stone fireplace, a cedar chest, a tall cabinet with glass panes, and a large weaving loom with dark-colored yarn or thread. He wasn’t interested in the yarn, but he was interested in a large round piece that had fallen off the end of the loom, exposing a gaping hole. The piece lay on the floor next to a small wooden box and a canvas-pocketed tool kit.
The room appeared to be otherwise in order and uninhabited, but until he checked the areas he couldn’t see from the window, he wouldn’t relax his defensive posture or signal an all-clear to Olivia.
His boots abraded the plank floor as he crossed the porch, scanning the surroundings as he inched forward. Using the edge of his boot, he pushed on the unbarred door, and it squawked as it scraped open across the floor.
He had made enough noise to announce himself to the next county.
Slowly, he entered, moving through the room, gun still in hand. None of the furniture was upturned. No broken glass littered the floor. No crooked pictures hung on the walls. There was a faint scent of peat in the air, which was odd since there was a stack of split pine and cedar outside and a smaller stack in a bucket sitting on the hearth. He searched both bedrooms and found them as undisturbed from the inside as they looked from the outside. There were no dirty dishes in the kitchen or trash in the container.
He holstered his gun, squatted, and put his hand over the ash residue in the hearth. Cold as winter. On the floor next to the loom, was the broken piece, an backpack, a small wooden box, a dental pick, a brush, tape measure, and a scrap of white cloth, along with a well-used canvas tool kit with chisels, brushes, rock hammers, markers, and plastic baggies.
When he got a good look at the box, his heart thumped hard against his ribs. It was identical to the one Elliott Fraser had on his desk at MacKlenna Farm.
Before he touched anything, he wanted to take pictures. He reached for his phone then remembered he had given it to Olivia. He eyeballed the width of the box and the open end of the beam. The hole was slightly larger. The box would fit in there easily.
At the sound of horses’ hooves crossing the yard, Connor drew his gun, flattened against the wall, and peeked out the front window. Olivia was galloping toward the cabin, leading Doc behind her. “Connor, is she here?”
He stepped out on the porch, holstering his gun once again. “What the hell are you doing? I told you to wait.”
“I was watching with binoculars. I knew it was safe. Where’s Amber?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “She was here. The beds are made, and the fireplace is cold.
”
“Did you check the trash? We recycle. If Amber prepared any freeze-dried food, the bags would be in the trash. We could tell how many meals she fixed.”
“There’s nothing there. Maybe she ate outside or on the trail.”
“Amber would have saved the trash and thrown it away when she returned.” Olivia dismounted and looped both horses’ reins around the porch rail. She handed Connor back his cell phone as she shouldered her way past him, pausing at the door, sniffing. “What’s that smell?”
“Peat.”
She peeled off her gloves. “Like grass? Why would Amber make a peat fire?”
“I don’t know that she did. The hearth is cold.” He pointed to the puzzle box on the floor. “Have you ever seen that box before?”
“No. She must have brought it with her.”
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. While Olivia walked through the cabin, he took several pictures of the room and more than a dozen pics of the items on the floor, including the loom’s broken piece and the gaping hole in the beam. Before he picked up the box, he took several close-up pictures of the green velvet interior. David McBain, president of MacKlenna Corporation and former head of security, needed to see the pictures ASAP.
Connor forwarded a dozen images to him along with the message: Does this box look familiar? I believe it came out of the loom.
David responded immediately: Kenzie had an identical one. She gave it to Elliott. Is anyone missing?
Connor answered: Olivia Kelly’s sister, Amber.
David responded: I’ll get on it. Don’t mention Elliott’s box. Find out where the loom came from.
“That’s a beautiful loom,” Connor said. “Do you know where it came from?”
Olivia looked at him as if he’d asked the dumbest question in the world. “Is it important right now?”
Although irritation crept into her tone, he gave her a pass. Her sister was missing, and he was asking what she perceived as an inane question. “Humor me,” he said politely. “I’m an investigator.” She gave him an exasperated sigh. “It came from Scotland. My seven-times great-grandmother, Lindsey Hughes, received it as a wedding gift from her parents. Her husband had it shipped here. I think I heard once that the cabin was built around it.” Olivia stared out the window into the forest. A tear trickled down her face. “I’m not sure about that part of the story though.” She swiped at her cheek. “Let’s go down to the mine and look around. Amber could be there.”
The Amber Brooch: Time Travel Romance (The Celtic Brooch Book 8) Page 4
