Heath standing up for Harper was the reassurance she needed.
“We’ll continue to search for evidence for now,” Sheriff Taggart said. “I’ll call in some resources and expand the search area and include underwater sonar. Though, if he threw her body into the river, she could have been washed downriver. In the meantime, if a woman was murdered last night, then like you said Ms. Reynolds, someone could have reported her missing by now. We’ll check into that and see if anyone matches your description.”
Thank you. Harper sucked in a breath. “I’m happy to meet with a forensic artist too.”
“Those are our next steps. And there’s something else. I’d like for you to see the doctor again, Ms. Reynolds. Let’s make sure you don’t have a brain injury, too, that could somehow interfere with your memories of the event. And for my part, I’ve opened a case file. Let’s hope it goes somewhere.” He leveled his gaze at her. “Do we have a deal?”
His request surprised her. “Fine.”
“Now, I have a bomb investigation to get back to. Wyatt Hayes opened his mailbox this morning and an explosion put him in the hospital too. Stupid kids. This has gone too far. Four kayakers are also missing.”
“What about Harper?” Heath asked. “The killer could target her because she witnessed the murder.”
A chill crawled over Harper. She wanted to go home. To leave this place. But now she realized she needed to stay and make sure that the woman’s murderer was brought to justice. Running away this time would destroy her. She knew that to her marrow.
“McKade. We’ve been over this. Ms. Reynolds is a tourist here, passing through. I’m not convinced she’s in any danger. Unless she knows the murderer.” Taggart directed his next words to Harper. “Did you recognize the murderer? Do you believe he knows you or can identify you?”
“I can’t exactly say that I’m in danger. But that doesn’t change the fact that a murderer is out there somewhere.” Harper took in the area around them. To her right was the vast meadow and to her left the woods opened up to the river. Beyond the woods and meadow, a cliff rose to meet rolling hills and mountains.
He could be watching her through his high-powered scope.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
At this distance, the judge could safely watch. Nobody was carrying one of those long telephoto lenses. They couldn’t even hear his ragged coughing, which nearly got the best of him this time. The sickness was spreading, taking over his body, despite that he’d taken advantage of everything medical science had to offer.
He needed more time to complete his task, and this woman could cost him. Grinding his molars, he lifted the scope and peered through. The scope extended his vision far behind the hill where he was propped. Below him, the evergreens spread before the meadow and cliff where the buffalo grazed and past the ridge overlooking the area where he’d killed the woman.
At least he was getting good use out of the scope and optics that cost more than his rifle—an expensive hobby he’d taken up to fill the void.
In the scope, he could easily view Sheriff Taggart and his good-old-boy crew. Rangers and that wildlife agent jerk, Kramer. From this vantage point, he could watch them all day long and they’d never know.
He dialed in the scope and focused on the woman who’d watched him with her camera last night. Crazy bad luck, that. He’d done his best to erase the evidence. These local yokels wouldn’t find a thing.
He hadn’t wanted to kill the hikers, who were honeymooners, but they had stumbled on things they shouldn’t have. He tied them up and kept them fed and hydrated. He also learned that they were expected to be away for a while on their hiking excursion—what kind of honeymoon was that, anyway?—and nobody would be looking for them for another four days at the very least.
And then it could be another day or so before anyone realized they were missing.
He had plenty of time to finish his business and get out of Dodge before the couple was found safe and sound.
But then the man had to go and be a hero. Sacrificed himself to free his wife.
She’d escaped.
The judge had no choice but to hunt her down. Had no choice but to shoot to kill.
The last thing he needed was the law traipsing around these woods. Maybe he should have left them the bodies and then they’d only be looking for a killer. But this way, it would take them much longer to sort things out. Nothing to go on except for one lone witness.
At least the sheriff’s department was distracted with finding a body and the shooter. Their attention would be divided.
Divide and conquer had always been a winning strategy.
CHAPTER TWELVE
WEDNESDAY, 9:33 A.M.
BRIDGER COUNTY SHERIFF’S OFFICE
Sheriff Taggart hadn’t answered Heath’s calls. Detective Moffett either. He wanted to know what was going on with the murder investigation. Heath was worried about Harper. He’d come in to see the sheriff in person.
At the kitchen in the county offices, Heath poured congealed coffee into a mug and then poured it right back out into the sink. He wished someone around here knew how to make a decent cup of coffee. I guess that’s going to have to be me.
Might as well make it while he waited on Taggart to give him the time of day.
Maybe he was only a reserve deputy and didn’t rank for his own cubbyhole with a desk, but he had all the same powers as a full-time paid deputy—same training too. The only difference was that Heath didn’t work full-time and wasn’t paid for hours he was required to work. Honestly, he liked it this way. He could assist when needed, and his attention could remain focused on the ranch. It was the best of both worlds.
He would need to keep reminding himself of that.
He stood back and waited for the coffee to brew. The sheriff still hadn’t assigned him the mailbox investigation yet. That made him antsy. He needed to be working on something in the department if he wanted to find out more about what was going on with Harper’s case.
All he needed was five minutes of Taggart’s time to get things moving.
He thought the sheriff would have the courtesy to give him that. Then again, the guy was busier than usual. Wyoming wasn’t a state filled with too much crime. Horse abuse, lost hikers, road closures. But in the last year, this region of the state had faced a few challenges.
A murder two nights ago, and now another mailbox bomb. Taggart had been appointed to serve as sheriff last year and would soon face elections. He needed to prove himself capable of the job. He didn’t want to call in the US Postal Inspection Service or the FBI to find some foolish kids who needed redirection. Heath wouldn’t want to be in Taggart’s shoes.
“Heath?” Jasmine Dylan, one of the office assistants, stuck her head through the kitchen door. “Sheriff says you can go on back to his office.”
Without his coffee, he walked through while she waited for him and then leaned in.
“He’s not in a good mood,” she said.
“No, I wouldn’t think so.”
She ushered him into Taggart’s office.
The sheriff stared at his computer but spared Heath a glance. “You have three minutes, McKade.”
Maybe this was the worst possible time for Heath to bring it up. It certainly wouldn’t get Taggart’s full attention. And in light of recent developments, it wasn’t important, but he was using this as his excuse to see the sheriff. Heath hesitated. How did he make this concise?
“Well? You’re down to two minutes and thirty seconds.”
Heath thrust the toxicology report in front of Taggart. “This.”
“What is it?”
“Before he died, the last sheriff told me that my father wasn’t drunk. The accident that killed the senator’s family wasn’t his fault.”
Taggart rose slowly and stared at the report.
“At first I was denied the report,” Heath said. “Which makes no sense. I threatened with a lawyer. I had been planning to try again since I’m a deputy now, but then I got t
his in the mail. It confirms that he was drunk and conflicts with what I was told.”
Taggart’s brow furrowed. “What are you asking me to do with this?”
“I want to know how and why my father took the blame for that accident. I don’t think he was drunk. I think someone doctored this report. I want an investigation into this.”
“Can I ask you why it’s so important now? Since your dad died, you’ve created the Emerald M Guest Ranch. People have forgotten your father’s legacy of drunkenness. But you could be dragging it all out again. Do you really want that?”
Why was Taggart stalling? Heath liked the guy and didn’t want to believe he was involved or had anything to hide. But then again, he once made the mistake of trusting too much and received a bullet in the gut. Heath leaned in and pressed his fists against Taggart’s desk. “I want to know why my father took the blame. I’m trying to do the right thing by bringing this to your attention.”
“Did you ever stop to think that the person who shot you and then told you this information thought you were dying and wanted to ease your mind about your father, so he lied to you?”
“To ease his own conscience.” Heath had been trying to find and save a friend when he’d been shot and left for dead. “I’ve considered that, yes. But I can’t let it go. I’m letting you know that I’m digging into this—officially or unofficially, take your pick. Did I make a mistake in coming to you with this because you might not like what I find?”
“Are you threatening me, McKade?”
Heath eased back and crossed his arms. “No. I’m giving you the facts.”
The sheriff eyed him as if he considered that he might have made a mistake in coming to Heath to ask him to be a reserve deputy. Which brought to mind his question—why hadn’t Taggart called him into action? He had wanted Heath full-time, but Heath’s heart was in his ranch. Taggart had needed his help and now he wasn’t using it.
The sheriff lifted the report and read it again. Then he looked up at Heath. “I know you have trust issues, and I know why. But I’m asking you to trust me on this. Let me do it. I’ll see what I can find out. But I’m going to need you to be patient.”
“Why do you want to do it? Seems like it’s beneath you. Why not send a deputy—that would be me—to look into things?”
“You’re too close to it, that’s why. If you don’t like what I find out, then you can investigate. Are we good?”
Heath crossed his arms. Could he trust Taggart with this? He’d had his back on numerous occasions. He couldn’t hold everyone else responsible for one man’s actions. “For now, we’re good. Don’t make me wait too long for answers.”
“While I’d like to jump right on this, we have mailboxes to safeguard. Kayakers to find. Oh yeah, and there’s a killer out there, if Ms. Reynolds can be believed.”
“Oh, come on. What does she have to do to convince you?”
“It’s not about her convincing me. We can’t do anything without information. Once we’ve finished a thorough search today, if there are no clues to follow, no evidence of the crime, then I’ll leave the file open. That’s all I can do.” Taggart scratched his jaw. “Listen, Heath, we’ve been through a lot together. You should know that I did some checking into her background. I called the PD in St. Louis to see if they could give me any information. This is confidential. Between you and me. I shouldn’t tell you this, but Harper Reynolds has PTSD. Survivor’s guilt. More specifically, homicide survivor’s guilt.”
“I’m always the survivor.”
“If you called the PD in St. Louis, then you know she was a crime scene photographer. PTSD is not unusual for police officers, first responders, or crime scene photographers. Those who deal with acts of violence. So what’s the big deal?”
Taggart shrugged. “She took an indefinite medical leave.”
“None of this means she didn’t witness a murder.”
“I’m not so sure about that. The PTSD could cause her to have hallucinations. Maybe what she thinks she saw wasn’t real. I’m telling you this to warn you that you shouldn’t get tangled up in it.”
Heath had thought the same thing, but then Taggart called him to the scene, and now he couldn’t walk away like he’d intended. “I’m disappointed in you, Taggart, for not believing her.”
“I was told that she was the best they’d had, but then she had to take a medical leave because she couldn’t handle the sight of blood or documenting the evidence left behind by violent crimes. Imagine that, McKade. A crime scene photographer who can’t do her job. Now here she is in my county and she comes up with a story about a murder. Here in Jackson Hole, we arrest people for DUI or abusing animals. That kind of thing.” He blew out a long breath. “We don’t see a lot of murders. I’m trying to give her the benefit of the doubt, but you can see my struggle.”
“Not a lot of murders, huh? Marilee Clemmons comes to mind. I could name a few others if you’d like.” Heath and his family had almost been murdered in the fall. Then there was the man who killed three people in the park last year. But he wouldn’t bring that up. “We could have a killer out there, Sheriff. You don’t want to be the man who didn’t listen to a witness and let him get away.”
Taggart studied Heath for a few seconds, then said, “Point taken.” Someone knocked on the sheriff’s office door, then opened it without waiting. Jasmine eyed Heath, then spoke to Taggart. “I got that information you were waiting for.”
Sheriff Taggart stood. “You’ve gone over your three minutes anyway, McKade. I’m going to call you up to assist soon. Today probably. I haven’t decided where to put you. But this is fair warning. Get your Emerald M business in order.” Taggart headed out the door as though he’d leave Heath standing in his office.
Instead, Heath followed him out. He wanted to ask about the sketch artist for Harper. Taggart quickly got involved in a heated discussion with Jasmine and Meghan, the IT girl, as they marched down the hall, and Heath was on his own. He felt like he was the only one on Harper’s side. For all their sakes, he sure hoped evidence came to light soon.
After what Harper had been through, he hated that she’d had to witness a murder. She had to be feeling alone in all this.
He wished he could figure out a way to reassure her.
When they were kids, he’d been the one who was alone. He was alone in shielding his younger brothers as much as possible from their angry father and his parents’ broken marriage. He was alone in defending his mother. He hadn’t protected her at all, and she died because of him. And the man his father became after that—sometimes Heath thought he was responsible for creating that monster.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
WEDNESDAY, 9:47 A.M.
BRIDGER-TETON NATIONAL FOREST
At home, it was time to take a closer look at the items he’d collected. The judge browsed the few images he’d found on the woman’s camera. Images of a hunter. The photographs had been taken by a deft hand and an exceptional eye. A professional. Not a portrait photographer. No. Not that for her. Nature, maybe—for nature enthusiast websites or magazines.
She’d caught him as he moved in on his kill. He’d been smart to wear that cap and keep the rifle close.
Even with her exceptional photography skills, he wasn’t identifiable.
But this was a memory card with few photos. Did she have another one on which she’d captured more images of him and the woman he’d shot? One thing he did know—she’d seen enough to drag law enforcement out to search.
She was a distraction to him because he’d had to make sure she didn’t have a leg to stand on. No body. No evidence. No charges. He’d evaded the law long enough to know how it worked.
He shifted his focus back to the map spread out on the table.
This . . . this deserved his full attention. It would be his legacy. He had to carry it out before it was too late. He had a feeling this time would be different.
Decades ago, he’d come close to getting caught, but instead he holed up here
in Jackson Hole, not far from where his great-great bank-robbing grandpa had hid out in the “hole-in-the-wall”—where all the outlaws had come to hide in the Big Horn Mountains of Wyoming over a century ago.
A historical museum in downtown Grayback had relics and articles about the Old West on display. There was even a mention of his outlaw ancestor. His great-great died—and with a chest full of bullets, of course—making a name for himself, but not before he fathered a child. And the rest was history, as they say. But it was all a complete fabrication to sensationalize the story. In truth, the outlaw had died years later from consumption. Tuberculosis. He’d had a family. All that money he’d stolen hadn’t done him any good.
Another laborious cough racked through the judge, a raucous sound that felt like a spike driving through his whole body. Like his great-great grandpa, the judge didn’t have his health either, but he didn’t care about the money.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
WEDNESDAY, 11:02 A.M.
GRANITE RIDGE CAMPGROUND
Heath stood outside the old Airstream camper made to look shiny and new. He cleared his throat and calmed his erratically beating heart, then knocked on the door, hoping to see Harper. He held the package he’d brought behind his back. Even without evidence, he believed her story. At this moment he didn’t care. He wanted to see her.
But would she be there? Though her Dodge Ram was parked next to the RV, she could be out somewhere enjoying nature.
On a beautiful day like this, he would typically be outside himself. Hiking a trail. Riding a horse. Fishing. That would be the case if this were a normal beautiful day. After witnessing a murder, Harper was frazzled. Heath understood her struggle better after what she’d told him yesterday and what Taggart had shared today. He should take Taggart’s advice and avoid getting wrapped up in her situation. But this was Harper, and deep down Heath knew that he was already there.
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