The artist didn’t ask more questions because Harper had described everything she could remember about both the victim and the murderer. From Harper’s description, Laura had created a composite sketch of a man holding up a high-powered rifle. The rifle and the hunter’s cap had obscured his features. In the sketch, he could be anyone. Still, he’d had deep crow’s feet around his eyes, so she knew he was older.
Concentrating, Laura furrowed her brow, the scratch-scratch of her pencil on paper the only sound. “I hear you used to be a crime scene photographer.”
Harper was surprised that Laura hadn’t brought that up during the rapport or interview phase of the session.
“Yep. I’m taking a year off.” Harper had no intention of going into the reasons why. Best to redirect. “So how did you get into forensic art?”
Laura grinned and shrugged. “I’m artistic. Already worked for the department, so they sent me to some classes and here I am. I don’t get to do this often. We don’t usually get these kinds of crimes here.”
“Thank you for that.”
Laura glanced up from her work. “For what?”
“The way you said it, it sounds like you believe I witnessed a murder.”
“Of course I believe you. You know what you saw and have great attention to detail.”
“It’s my understanding that witnesses or victims will remember maybe four facial features. I tried to commit them to memory—but that could be distorted.”
“And that’s okay. My job is to present an image that allows for distortion. In other words, more like a caricature—people are more likely to recognize that than they are an exact image.”
“Like one produced on a computer.”
“Exactly.” Laura looked up from the drawing. “See what you think.” She showed Harper the sketch.
Harper took in the composite drawing and saw the victim she’d described. “I wasn’t expecting you to get the eyes.”
“You were good with details. I’m sorry for the woman, and sorry you had to go through this experience. At the same time, I’m glad this person had someone watching. Someone like you to take in all the details of the crime, the victim, and the shooter. Someone who could help find her murderer. If you think this is right, I’ll turn this over to the sheriff. Maybe no one knows she’s missing yet. We could also be on the lookout for the shooter, though he looks like most of the hunters around here. Except this isn’t big game hunting season.”
Deputy Herring opened the door and stuck his head in. “You done here? There’s been an incident at the Emerald M Ranch.”
Emerald M Ranch. Harper’s heart jumped to her throat. She hoped nothing had happened to Heath.
Laura glanced at Harper. “Yes. We were finishing up.”
The deputy nodded, then shut the door.
“If you don’t have any other business with Detective Moffett,” Laura said, “you’re probably good to go. I suspect her attention has been drawn elsewhere for the moment.”
Harper touched Laura’s arm. “Please, I know the guy who owns the Emerald M. Heath helped me at the river after I’d fallen. What’s happened at his ranch?”
“Let me see what I can find out. Wait here.” Laura disappeared, taking the pictures she’d drawn with her.
Harper paced the small room.
When Laura stepped back inside, her features were pinched. “I’m not sure if this information is correct. It sounds like a mistake. But I’m told there was an explosion.”
Harper gasped as she struggled to comprehend the words. “An explosion, as in a bomb? I heard something about mailbox bombs. Is anyone hurt?”
The forensic artist frowned. “I don’t know the details. You could wait around if you want, but you look exhausted and you’ve been through an ordeal yourself. Go home and get some rest. You can check back with us later and maybe someone will know more.”
Or call Heath. Except she didn’t have a cell yet. She would remedy that first thing.
Harper nodded and grabbed her purse. “I’d like to get a copy of those images, please.”
A few minutes later, Laura returned with a large envelope containing the copies. “Thanks again for coming in. Your help will be invaluable to the department in catching this guy. I’m happy to see you out.”
“Sure.” Harper followed her down the hallway. “Is there a phone I could use before I leave?”
Laura showed Harper to her small office. “Here, use mine. I’ll give you some privacy.”
Harper stared at the landline phone and was grateful she’d taken a moment to memorize Emily’s cell number. She hoped Emily was in a spot where she got reception.
Emily answered.
“Hey, it’s me. I’m surprised you answered.”
“Oh, thank goodness it’s you. The caller ID said Bridger County Sheriff. Scared me. I’m sitting in the perfect spot for a signal because I was just on the cell. I got us a campground in town! They didn’t tell you? One of the deputies worked some magic for us because of our situation.”
Sounded like Emily had worked some of her own magic.
“I’m glad to hear it. I’m headed back to you soon.” She decided to wait to tell Emily about the explosion at Heath’s ranch.
“Good. I’ll see you soon.”
Harper ended the call. She would try one more time to learn more about the explosion and Heath. She found Laura in the hallway. The deputy had geared up and was exiting the sheriff’s office.
“Laura, wait. Have you heard anything yet? Do you know if Heath is okay?”
Deputy Herring stepped up next to Laura. “Heath made the call for an ambulance,” he said. “He’s okay, but I hear someone’s hurt. We’re headed that way now.”
Both deputies’ expressions remained grim as they exited the offices.
Heath is okay . . .
She let the news sink in and calm her heart. But her concern for the person injured remained.
Copies in hand, Harper followed them out the doors and headed to her truck. She stopped off to get a cheap burner phone, then headed out of town and back toward Granite Ridge Campground, though she really wanted to drive straight over to the Emerald M Ranch.
Law enforcement would be all over that place, and she probably wouldn’t be allowed anywhere near it. What had happened? Even if she showed up there, she couldn’t do anything to help Heath, though she wanted to offer the same comfort to him that he had offered to her.
Maybe . . . maybe even help gather evidence. She couldn’t believe she would even consider it—she hadn’t wanted to take photographs documenting acts of violence again. But two nights ago was a turning point for her. She admitted what she’d known all along—she could never truly get away from crime. Humanity lived in a fallen world. There was no getting around that. The nightmares and flashbacks and the memories of crime scenes she’d processed would keep her in this prison. Only God could help her out. If only she would let him.
Please, please, God, help me so I can help others. Help me let go of the anguish, the pain and suffering, and give it to you.
She momentarily squeezed her eyes shut.
The vehicle bounced as she steered onto the shoulder. She corrected her course and turned her thoughts back to Heath. If only she could help him somehow. But there was nothing she could do. Except pray. And it had been so long since she’d prayed. Would God even hear her? Would he listen to her prayers for Heath, for anyone who was in the line of fire?
CHAPTER TWENTY
WEDNESDAY, 10:32 P.M.
GRANITE RIDGE CAMPGROUND
Harper tossed and turned in bed. She and Emily had spent the rest of the afternoon prepping the Airstream, doing laundry, and getting ready to leave early in the morning to head to the campground closer to Grayback. The list to get the RV ready for travel was long and detailed, and they always completed the tasks the night before. Rain was expected in the morning, so it was even better that they had prepared to leave tonight. Everything had been done, including raising the stabilize
rs—but the trailer was hitched to the truck, so it should be fine for them to sleep in.
All they had to do in the morning was raise the steps to the Airstream, then get in the truck and drive off. That is, if Harper could get out of bed. All that heavy lifting—the hitch wasn’t light—had her back aching.
Her heart was in pain too. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Heath. She’d been told he was okay, but what exactly did that mean? And someone had needed an ambulance. Worry had chased her all day and night.
Funny to think that their paths had once again crossed—more like collided—and he’d inserted himself into her life. She’d accepted a gift from him—his way of comforting her. Offering reassurance. She reached over and pressed a hand over the camera on the small side table. But she deluded herself into thinking she was part of his world. She wasn’t anymore. Not really. She should stop worrying about him. She had enough issues of her own.
Except.
Heath . . .
His face and broad shoulders came to mind. The way he smelled and walked and talked. The way he made her feel. He’d left one of his business cards, with his cell phone number on it, in the camera case. It read: HEATH MCKADE, PROPRIETOR, EMERALD M GUEST RANCH. She’d already plugged the number into her new phone, along with Emily’s. She could call him, but she wouldn’t. He would be wrapped up in dealing with the incident at his ranch.
Was he really okay? What happened? How could she find out? She’d tried calling the sheriff’s department like Laura had suggested, but of course that got her nowhere.
Before they unplugged, she and Emily had watched the local news, but Harper didn’t learn anything new about what happened at the Emerald M Ranch. No names were released. At least she’d seen for herself that Heath was okay when the newscast showed him talking to reporters.
Images of Mom, along with Heath, swirled around in her mind.
Harper had been too young to remember much, or maybe she had been too wrapped up in her silly little-girl things. But she could clearly remember her mother sitting at the kitchen table, her hair hanging down over her face as she cried. Her hands shook as the nightly news broadcast talked about a horrific bombing.
While Harper wanted the sheriff’s office to get on top of what happened at the ranch, she worried that the woman’s murder she’d witnessed would not be given priority.
An image of the shooter’s scope looking straight at her came to mind. Harper shuddered.
While she wanted the man to be caught and brought to justice, she didn’t hold out much hope for that. In her experience, the bad guys didn’t get caught that often. And if he couldn’t get caught, then she hoped he had left the area for good and would receive his just reward elsewhere.
Would she ever sleep?
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
THURSDAY, 12:31 A.M.
GRANITE RIDGE CAMPGROUND
Harper’s bed jerked. Bumped. Vibrated. She stirred awake. Confusion rocked through her.
What in the world? She sat up on her elbows.
We’re moving? Emily, why didn’t you wait for me? She would much rather be in the truck riding than in the RV. Maybe Emily thought she needed the rest.
A scream from the other end of the RV alerted her. Emily wasn’t in the truck driving. Harper climbed from the bed and steadied herself against the wall as the camper rocked back and forth. She slid the pocket door open and remained in the doorframe for stability.
The camper bounced, and she fell forward. On the floor, Harper pushed to her knees. She looked up in the dark camper, grateful they had secured all the contents in the cabinets last night. All except the coffeepot. Something slid across the counter and crashed to the floor. The coffee pot?
“Emily! Where are you? Are you okay?”
“What’s happening?” Emily was on the floor too. She switched on a flashlight and crawled toward Harper.
“We’re moving. Our camper is moving!” Harper struggled to wrap her mind around it. “Someone’s driving the truck!”
“But why?”
How? Who? “I don’t know that, but it doesn’t matter. We have to get out.” She fought to gain her footing and finally stood.
The driver was going much too fast. Harper made her way to the door. “It’s moving fast, so we have to be careful jumping out.”
Whoever had stolen their truck—camper included—would have to slow down at some point. Stop signs. Traffic lights. Corners. Something. And that’s when Harper and Emily would be ready to act.
Except the door handle wouldn’t budge. Was it stuck? “Oh no.”
“Harper? What is it?” Terror edged Emily’s voice.
“The door won’t open. I don’t know if it’s jammed or someone locked it from the outside.”
“Someone can do that?”
“I don’t know. Didn’t you say it got stuck the other day and Mr. Stein fixed it?”
“I thought he fixed it.” Emily gasped for breath. “Okay, so plan B. The emergency escape window. We practiced this, remember?”
“No. We talked about it. But we never actually took that swan dive from the sofa through the window.” Or tried to slip one foot up and over and through the window while the other balanced on the furniture. She wasn’t 100 percent sure she could get her hips through that small window—the downside of going vintage.
“But we practiced taking the screen off, opening the window, and closing it again.” Emily’s voice had grown excited. Or frantic.
Harper almost laughed, but the camper swerved hard to the left and she hit the counter, her face slamming into a cabinet. Pain lanced through her. What happened to Emily? The flashlight beam had gone out.
“Are you okay?” Harper asked
“No. Let’s get out of here.”
Harper held on to anything she could find as she made her way toward the window. Whoever was driving was intentionally making it hard for them to move around.
And if he or she had somehow locked the door, what about the escape window over the sofa? Had they intentionally blocked that too?
Acid crept into her throat.
“We need to call for help,” Emily said.
Okay. Deep breath. This wasn’t a fire. They wouldn’t burn to death or suck in noxious gases and die. They could think this through calmly.
“I’ll go for the phones.” They were charging in the kitchen. “You make your way to the window and get it open.”
The camper continued to sway back and forth on the road. Harper thought she might have gotten her swaying camper legs when the camper hit a bump and she suddenly bolted into the air, knocking her head on the ceiling. Someone screamed.
Was that her or Emily? She didn’t care. She reached for the cell phones and yanked them from the chargers. “Got the phones. How are you doing on the window?”
“I can’t find the latch.”
They had to get out of there before the driver killed them. Would that be an accident? Or on purpose?
Granite Ridge Campground was located at the top of a granite ridge.
Emily grunted. “It won’t budge.”
Harper thrust her cell into her pocket. “Let me help you. You call 9-1-1 while I try. Maybe you’ll get a signal.”
As the RV moved and swayed, Harper tried to open the window as she balanced on the sofa Emily had rolled out to a bed. If only she had something she could use to smash through it. Then. The latch moved. They laughed in unison as if they were out of trouble.
Not yet.
Emily’s voice trembled as she spoke into the phone. “Granite Ridge Campground. Yes. Someone’s driving away with my camper with me in it! I can’t get out!”
The camper whipped to the right, jarring Harper’s hold. Emily screamed as they both slammed against the opposite wall. Something clattered.
“Em, are you okay?”
“I’m alive. And I want to stay that way. But I dropped the phone.”
This was an abduction or a murder in progress. No way Harper could let either of t
hose things come to pass. Moonlight broke through the clouds. She shared a look with Emily. They were going to get out of this together.
Harper crawled onto the sofa bed and finished opening the window. “We can do this. We can fit through.” They had to. They couldn’t wait for someone to come to their rescue.
Why hadn’t someone stopped this maniac by now? A park ranger? Anyone? Someone should have noticed the dangerous driving.
Fear corded her neck and tightened. Maybe she and Emily couldn’t make it. The driver was going fast enough that the fall out of the camper could kill them.
Emily held on with one hand and swiped at her furious tears with the other. “I don’t understand why this is happening.”
“We’re getting out of here. Don’t think about why it’s happening right now.” She thrust her head out the window and held on. She took in the view.
And sucked in a breath.
Harper pulled her head back in to look at her sister.
“What’s the driver doing?” Emily asked. “Where are they taking us? I have a bad feeling. I mean a worse feeling. I think I’m going to throw up.”
Nausea roiled in Harper’s gut too. The driver was steering the camper along the switchbacks on a curvy mountain road. The most treacherous part. It wasn’t easily traversed, even in the daytime while driving slowly.
Others had died there before.
She and Emily, they wouldn’t be the first.
“We have to get out. Now!” Harper urged her sister forward toward the window. “You have to go feet first. You don’t want to land on your head.”
The road dipped. It might already be too late. Harper had a feeling the driver had already jumped from the truck and was letting momentum carry the vehicle and camper forward toward the deadly cliff’s edge. Was there any hope they could survive the drop from this camper?
“Go, Emily. I’ll hold your arms. I won’t drop you, I promise. If you can’t do this, then we’re both going to die.”
Emily climbed through the window, legs first. When she was halfway through, Harper grabbed her arms. The camper bounced up and Harper lost her grip. Emily disappeared from the window.
Always Look Twice Page 10
