Murdered in Conard County Page 18

  * * *

  IN THE EARLY morning, before the sun had risen when the light was still gray, Gus went to the corral out back to check on the horses. They regarded him almost sleepily and stood close together because the chill had deepened overnight. Remembering summers elsewhere, he sometimes wondered how folks could ever really think of this climate as having a summer. A few hot days, but up here in the forest on the mountain little of that heat reached them. Eighty degrees was a heat wave.

  The lean-to over one part of the corral, against the cabin, seemed to have done its job. The wind must have been blowing from a different direction because the feed was dry and if the horses had gotten wet at all, he couldn’t tell. Even their blankets seemed mostly dry.

  They nickered at him, apparently glad to see a human face. He could well imagine. The night’s rain had left a lot of mud behind, and that wasn’t good for them to stand in. He needed to move them out of here soon.

  He loved the morning scents of the woods after a storm, though. The loamy scent of the forest floor, the pines seeming to exhale their aroma with delight...all of it. Fresh, clean and unsullied by anything else.

  Well, except horse poop, he corrected himself with amusement. Grabbing a shovel that leaned against the cabin wall, he scooped up as much as he could find and dumped it into the compost pile on the other side of the fence. He wondered if the compost ever got put to use. He knew some folks came up to grab a load or two of his in the spring for their backyard gardens. Maybe they came here, too. He turned some of it and felt the heat rise. Good. It was aging.

  Smelly, though, he thought with amusement. So much for that fresh morning aroma.

  The sky had lightened a little more as he returned inside, wondering if he should start breakfast or let Blaire sleep. He was used to running on only a couple of hours of sleep in the field. Today wouldn’t be a problem for him. He didn’t know about her.

  As he stepped inside, he smelled bacon. Well, that answered the question. He passed the kitchen area to the bathroom, where he washed his hands, then returned to Blaire.

  “Morning,” he said. “I hope I didn’t wake you when I got up.”

  “Not really. I was starting to stir. How are the horses?”

  “Champs. They’re fine, but they really need a ride today. At the moment they’re standing in mud.”

  She turned from the stove to look at him and he thought he saw a slight pinkening of her cheeks. “Bad for them?”

  “Bad for their hooves if they stand too long. A few hours won’t cause a problem, I’m sure, but I know they’d feel better if they could dry off their feet.”

  “Who wouldn’t?” She turned back to the stove and flipped some strips of bacon.

  “Can I help?”

  “Make some toast if you want it. We’ve got power this morning, amazingly enough. I was sure that storm would have left us blacked out. Anyway, the toaster’s over there. We don’t have to use the flame on the stove.”

  He found a loaf of wheat bread next to the toaster and a butter dish with a full stick. He dug out a knife and began by popping two slices of bread into the toaster. “Did you ever see those four-sided metal tents you could use to make toast over a gas flame?”

  She thought a moment. “Those things with the little wooden handles so you could pull down the piece that held the bread in place against the grill? My great-grandmother had one, but I never saw her use it.”

  “I’ve sometimes thought I’d like to find one somewhere. Power goes out over at my place, too, and I like my toast.”

  “Then we ought to look for one. Now that you mention it, that would probably help me out a lot in the winter.”

  He watched her fork bacon onto a plate with a paper towel on it. She immediately placed more strips in the pan. “I stuck my nose outside,” she said. “It’s cold, isn’t it?”

  “Relatively. We’ll need jackets and gloves for certain.”

  “Then we should eat hearty. Stoke the internal heater.”

  He absolutely didn’t have any problem with that.

  * * *

  THEY RODE OUT after the sun crested the mountains far to the east. It hung red and hazy for a while, then brightened to orange. Soon it became too brilliant to look at.

  The cold clung beneath the trees, however. At Gus’s suggestion they started circling the murder scene about two hundred yards out.

  “He had to watch for a while before moving in,” Gus said needlessly as they had already discussed this. “So he’d have some kind of hide. Maybe use one left by another hunter.”

  She was riding beside him as their path through the trees allowed it. A slight shudder escaped her. “I don’t like the way you phrased that. Another hunter. Like this guy was after deer or elk.”

  She had a point. “I hope you know I didn’t mean it that way.”

  “I do,” she acknowledged.

  “You okay?”

  “Hell, no,” she answered frankly. “Ants of bad memories are crawling up and down my spine, and occasionally all over me. If you mowed this forest to the ground, maybe then I’d be able to believe there isn’t an ambush out here waiting for us.”

  “I read you.” Yeah, he did. It might all be PTSD from their time in war, but whether it was didn’t matter. They couldn’t afford to ignore it until they were sure the shooter wasn’t out here.

  A little farther along, she spoke again. “We started this whole idea to find evidence.”

  “True.”

  “How much could be left after that storm last night? Seriously.”

  He shook his head but refused to give in to the despair that sometimes accompanied the memories. His brain had a kink in it since Afghanistan and all he could do was make the best use of it he might. Ignoring it never won the day.

  They used both GPS and a regular compass to navigate their way around a wide arc. The GPS didn’t always catch a weak satellite signal through the trees, but as soon as another satellite was in place it would strengthen. In the interim, when the signal failed, they used the old-fashioned method.

  About an hour later, Blaire made a sound of disgust. “I haven’t yet been able to see the Jasper tent through the trees. If someone was going to observe, he’d need the sight line or he’d have to be a lot closer. What’s the smart money?”

  Gus reined in Scrappy and waited until Blaire came fully beside him, their legs almost touching.

  “Here.” He reached into his saddlebag and pulled out a huge pair of binoculars that would have served a sniper’s crew well. “Look upslope and see what catches your attention.”

  “Why up?”

  “Because if there’s a high spot up there, or even along this arc, those trees aren’t necessarily going to matter. We don’t have to see through them.”

  She gave him a crooked smile. “Which is why you were special ops and I wasn’t.” She looked upslope again. “You’re right, I’m probably looking in the wrong direction.”

  “We should look both ways. In case he might have found an open sight line here, too.”

  “I hope we’re not on a fool’s errand,” she remarked as they moved forward.

  “We’ve got to look. Neither of us is the type to sit on our hands.” Nor did he want to tell her that he could swear he felt eyes boring into the back of his neck. Those sensations had never let him down in the ’Stan, but they hadn’t always been right, either.

  Even so... “You know, Blaire, we’re both concerned he’s still hanging around, but I can’t understand why he would.”

  “I can’t understand why he killed that poor man in the first place. Besides, I’ve heard criminals like to come back to the scene. To relive their big moment. To see what the cops are doing. We’re looking. Maybe he’s interested in that. Maybe it makes him feel important.”

  “Possibly.” He tilted his head a little, looking at his display and s
eeing the GPS was down again. He pulled the compass out of his breast pocket to make sure they were still following their planned route. So far so good. He looked downslope again but saw only trees. A lot of trees. He could have sighed. “That was good reasoning, you know.”

  She had been looking upslope with the binoculars. “What was?”

  He smiled. “Your rationale for why he still might be here. Maybe our senses are completely off-kilter.”

  She lowered her head for a moment, then said something that made his heart hurt. “I hope not. I’m still learning to trust my perceptions again.”

  * * *

  THEY WERE GETTING too close, Jeff thought. He’d made his way back to the hide atop a big boulder from which he’d watched the campground. It would give some hunter a panorama for tracking game. For him it gave a view of the killing field.

  He caught himself. That was too dramatic. That called to mind the most god-awful massacre, and he didn’t want to associate with that, even in a private moment of thought.

  But putting his binoculars to his eyes, he watched the two of them. If he took Blaire out now, the guy might dismount to take care of her. Would he have time to get away before the man came looking for him?

  He looked up the slope and recalled the night of the shooting. He’d had to go into the campground that night, right to the tent. This time he could keep a much safer distance and just hightail it. It wasn’t as far, and he knew the way. He ought to since he’d covered the path so many times.

  Shooting Blaire might spook the horses, too. The guy—Gus, he thought—might get thrown. That would be helpful. Of course, a man could probably run faster over this terrain than a horse could. But would he leave Blaire if she was bleeding?

  Yeah, if she was already dead.

  Crap.

  He rolled over again and watched the two of them. If they came up any higher, he was going to have to retreat from this spot. He had little doubt they’d find it. It worked as a deer blind, not a human blind. The guy who’d built this nest hadn’t wanted it to be impossible to find in subsequent years. Too much work had gone into it, such as moving heavy rocks for a base.

  Damn, he wanted a cigarette. The thought made him look down and he realized he’d left a heap of butts already. Damn! He scooped them up and began to stuff them into a pocket. Not enough to leave a shell casing behind. No, now he’d leave DNA for sure. Maybe Will was right to scorn him.

  No, Will wasn’t right. Will wasn’t right about a damn thing except he needed to make sure Blaire didn’t have a sudden memory of him and make a connection.

  Then Jeff was going to clear his butt out of this country.

  His thoughts stuttered a bit and he wondered if his thinking was getting screwed up. Energy bars barely staved off the cold and he was almost out of them. Maybe his brain was skipping important things.

  But he knew one thing for sure. If he went back without killing that woman, Will and Karl were going to kill him. So he had to do it. Just to buy time.

  He needed those two to split up a little more. More space between them, more distance. He didn’t want to add two people to a body count that shouldn’t even exist.

  He closed his eyes briefly, wishing himself on another planet. Or even dead and buried. Anything but lying here watching a woman he had nothing against, waiting for an opportunity to shoot her as if she were a game animal.

  It was self-defense, he told himself. Indirectly, perhaps, but he needed to defend himself and this was the only way. Self-defense. He kept repeating it like a mantra.

  * * *

  GUS DREW REIN and Scrappy slowed, then stopped. Realizing it, Blaire slowed Lita down and looked over at him. “Something wrong?”

  “Scrappy just started to limp. Maybe he’s got a loose shoe or something. I need to check. Give me a minute?”

  “Of course.” She watched him dismount, then turned her attention to the woods around them. She just didn’t see any place yet that would have given the shooter a clear view of the campground. They needed to get higher, unless Scrappy was truly lame, in which case they’d have to head back.

  Because she was busy telling herself this was a fool’s errand, they’d never find anything useful and it was simply born of their military training that required them to act against a threat... Well, she wouldn’t necessarily mind if they had to call this off. She loved being out here on horseback, and Lita was a great mount, but the sense of danger lurking around every tree was ruining it and probably ridiculous besides.

  Since she’d left the combat zone for the last time, she’d been forced to realize how powerful post-traumatic stress could be. She hadn’t been inflicted with it as badly as some of her former comrades, but she had it. Enough to make her uneasy for no damn good reason, like the last few days.

  A random murder had occurred. It might not even be random at all. They wouldn’t know that until the police collected more evidence. But right now, riding through the woods, hoping to find the place from which the shooter could have observed the campground, had its footing more in her memories than in the present.

  Yeah, it was creepy, but this creepy? She needed to talk herself down. Needed to accept that the killer was long gone and every bit of the uneasiness she couldn’t shake was being internally generated by a heap of bad memories that couldn’t quite be buried.

  Then maybe she could get back to doing her job, and Gus could get back to doing his. Holly and Dave might not mind standing in for them for a while, but it wasn’t fair. They both had jobs to do and they were letting them slide because neither of them could quite believe in the safety of the woods.

  That thought caused her to sit back in the saddle. Couldn’t believe in the safety of the woods? Seriously? This retreat she had come to in order to escape the bustle of the busy, populated world because it somehow grated on her and kept her on alert too much? It no longer felt safe?

  God, this was bad. Maybe she needed to get some counseling. Never had the detritus of her military experience gotten this far out of hand. Nightmares, yeah. Disliking crowds, yeah. But the woods? The safe haven she’d found here?

  “It seems he got a stone in his hoof,” Gus said, dropping Scrappy’s right foreleg to the ground.

  “Do we need to go back?”

  “Nah. I’ve got a tool in my saddlebag. I’ll get it out in a minute and then we can move on.”

  She watched him come around Scrappy’s left side and unbuckle the saddlebag. “Is he bruised?”

  “I don’t know yet. He didn’t limp for long, so I hope not.”

  “Well...if he needs a rest...” She trailed off as it hit her how far away they were now from everything. Miles from her cabin. Probably miles from the dirt road. Could they shortcut it through the woods? Maybe. It all depended on how many ravines were lurking between here and there. So far they’d been lucky. At any moment the mountain could throw up a huge stop sign.

  “It’ll be fine,” Gus said as he pulled out the tool. “We can always walk them, but I don’t think it’ll be necessary.”

  Blaire felt the punch before she heard the report. She started to fall sideways and grabbed the saddle horn only to feel it slip from her fingers. She felt another blow, this one to her head as she wondered with confusion why she was on the ground. Then everything went black.

  * * *

  JEFF HAD A clear escape route. He could run up to the cave like a mountain goat, nothing in his way from here. When the guy dismounted his horse and started to check its hoof, it seemed like a fateful opportunity. He had a clear shot at Blaire, and from over two hundred yards he had no doubt he could make it.

  If he was one thing, he was a superb marksman with this rifle. One shot was all he’d need.

  He looked downslope and liked what he saw. Damn fool ranger wouldn’t be able to reach this spot fast. Too many rocks, a ravine that looked deep enough to swallow him and his horse. It
made great protection for Jeff.

  Okay, then.

  Lifting his rifle to his shoulder, he pulled the bolt to put a shell in the chamber. Then, with his elbows resting on a rock, he looked through the scope. Suddenly Blaire was big, a huge target.

  Holding his breath, steadying his hands until the view from the scope grew perfectly still, he fired. He waited just long enough to see Blaire fall from her horse.

  Then he grabbed his pack and gun and started to run uphill. He didn’t wait to see the result. He didn’t need to. He was a damn fine shot.

  What he hadn’t seen was that the man was looking right in his direction when he fired.

  * * *

  GUS REMOVED THE STONE from Scrappy’s foot and tossed it away. Bending, he looked closely and saw nothing worrisome. He straightened and looked up at Blaire, who was still straddling Lita. “He might be a bit tender later, but he’s fine to continue.”

  “Good,” she said.

  Then the entire world shifted to slow motion. He saw a flash from up in the woods some distance away. His mind registered it as a muzzle flash. Only then did he hear the familiar crack.

  Before he could act, he saw red spread across Blaire’s sleeve and begin to drip on her hand. He had to get her down. Now.

  She reached for the saddle horn, but before he could get there, she tipped sideways and fell off Lita. He heard the thud as her head hit the ground.

  Everything inside him froze. The clearheaded state of battle washed over him, curling its ice around everything within him, focusing him as nothing else could.

  He left Scrappy standing and dealt with Lita, who was disturbed enough by the sound and Blaire’s tumble to be dancing nervously. He feared she might inadvertently trample Blaire as she lay on the ground, so he grabbed her by the bridle, then grabbed Scrappy with his other hand.

  He knew horses well enough to know that Scrappy might react to Lita’s nervousness and begin to behave the same way. While it wasn’t usually necessary, he used the reins to tie Scrappy to a tree trunk along with Lita.