MurderedIin Conard County (Conard County: The Next Generation Book 40) Read online

  She stared down at her hands, cradling the beer she had hardly tasted, and remembered her early days here. She’d been on maybe her third or fourth night, feeling a mixture of pride at her recent promotion and a bit of discomfort about whether she was ready for the responsibility. Being alone out here, though, had always felt soothing. Comfortable. A long way away from ugly thoughts, pain and anguish.

  Then Gus had come riding out of the spring mist that clung close to the ground that day. Wisps of it parted before him and Scrappy. Except for his green jacket, the brass badge and the Forest Service hat, she’d have wondered who the hell was riding in when the park hadn’t officially opened for the season.

  Iconic, she’d thought then. Even for a girl raised in the West, he looked iconic.

  He’d raised a hand to wave, calling, “I’m Gus Maddox, the head ranger at the national forest next door.” He and his horse had come closer. “You must be Blaire Afton?”

  Thus had begun a relationship that had started as two strangers with similar jobs, then had been welded by sharing that they were both vets and sometimes had some difficulties dealing with the past. The revelations had come slowly, carefully. Trust was hard won in some areas. But now she trusted him completely.

  In all that time, they had remained friends who treated each other as colleagues and occasionally as comrades. When they met up, either at one of their cabins or in town for coffee, they had the kinds of conversations she’d had with the guys in her unit in the Army.

  As if there was a line that couldn’t be crossed. Had they still been in the service, that line would definitely be there. But that was in the past, and now was now, and she felt ever increasing urges to know him in other ways.

  A striking man, he’d have made almost any woman drool. She was a little astonished to realize she was getting to the drooling stage with him.

  For some reason, the thought cheered her up, drawing her out of the uneasy darkness that had been haunting her since the murder. It was like a permission slip to get out of the serious stuff for a little while.

  She looked at the bottle in her hand and noticed she’d hardly made a dent in that beer. Good. This was no alcohol-fueled mood.

  Rising from her chair, she went to sit on the couch, not too close, but not exactly tucked into the far end, either. Even from more than a foot away, she could detect his aromas, wonderful aromas, the faint scent of man mixed with the outdoors, a bit of horse and a bit of beer. Very masculine.

  Very sexy.

  Oh, God, was she about to do something stupid? His gray eyes, eyes the color of a late afternoon storm rolling in over the mountains, had fixed on her and settled. It was a frank stare.

  She was crossing the invisible line. He sensed it. All of a sudden she was nervous and afraid to move. She didn’t want to make him uncomfortable. She didn’t want to risk the precious friendship they’d built, and in her experience taking a relationship beyond that eventually led to a parting of ways.

  And what if they did have sex? Would they become uncomfortable with one another afterward? It might prove to be a major sacrifice.

  But his eyes held hers, drew her as if they were magnetic. “Blaire?”

  Frank words emerged. There was little she hadn’t told him about the bad things in the past, and dissembling with Gus seemed impossible now. “I’m telling myself not to go where I’m thinking about going.”

  That made him smile. Man, she loved the way the corners of his eyes crinkled when the smile reached them. “You are, huh? Afraid of repercussions?”

  “Aren’t there always repercussions?”

  “Depends.” Leaning to one side, he put his beer bottle on the battered end table. Then he took hers from her hands and put it beside his.

  “You,” he said, “are the most attractive woman I’ve known in a long time. Like you, I’ve been trying not to risk our friendship. But a lot of good things can begin between friends.”

  She nodded as her mouth went dry. A tremor passed through her.

  “I get your reluctance. I share it. But I want you.”

  Oh, boy. Magic words. They lit her up like a thousand sparklers, tingling in every cell. She felt almost as if she couldn’t catch her breath.

  He reached out and took her hands. His touch was warm, his fingers and palms a bit calloused from hard work. He looked down at her smaller hands, then squeezed her fingers and drew her over until she sat beside him.

  “I don’t want to mess things up, either,” he said. “But a hug ought to be safe, shouldn’t it?”

  He was quite a perceptive man, she thought as she nodded and let him gently pull her closer. He’d sensed what she was thinking and had turned out to be thinking along the same lines. As his arm wrapped around her, cuddling her to his side, she felt as if a spring-tight tension in her released. She relaxed, more completely than she had in a long time. She softened.

  In the hollow of his shoulder, she found a firm pillow, and she could hear the beating of his heart, strong and steady. The arm he had wrapped around her gave her a gentle squeeze, then his hand began to stroke her arm.

  Apparently trying to make sure matters didn’t progress further until and unless they were both ready, he began to talk about tomorrow. “Do you have good topographic maps for the area we’re going to explore?”

  “Yeah. Down to a meter or so. Some geology students did it as a class project a while back. There may be some differences, though. The mountain moves.”

  “That it does. Rocks fall, landslides happen... But whatever you have, let’s mark out a plan of action tomorrow.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “But first you want to go to town, right?”

  “I need a few things, but that could wait. What I really want is to talk to the sheriff.”

  “I’ve had cause to talk to Dalton quite a few times when we’ve had problems. He’s a good man.”

  She nodded, loving the way the soft flannel of his shirt felt beneath her cheek. “He used to head up the crime scene unit before he was elected sheriff.”

  “And before that, undercover DEA.” He gave a muted laugh. “That guy has a lot of experience under his belt. Even if he can’t share details with us, maybe he can offer a few opinions or speculations.”

  “A sense of what might have been going on,” she agreed. “He doesn’t strike me as a man who likes the idea of a random killing, either.”

  “Stranger killings are the hardest to solve.” A slight sigh escaped him. “More beer?”

  “I misjudged my mood.”

  She felt, rather than saw, his nod, then his movements as he reached for his own bottle and took a few swallows. Tentatively she let her hand come to rest on one of his denim-clad thighs. She felt the muscles jump a bit at the touch, then relax. God, he was as hard as steel. Must be all that riding.

  But he didn’t reject her touch, nor did he do anything to encourage it. Her hand began to absorb his warmth, and she felt an even deeper relaxation filling her. Like a cat finding sunlight, she thought with some amusement at herself.

  “I’m making too much of this,” she remarked. “Too much. These things happen.”

  “Sure, they happen all the time in the desolate woods at a campground. If I thought you were making too much of this, I wouldn’t have ridden over tonight. I’m concerned, too. You’re right about needing a reason. Without it, we have no idea what this killer might be planning. Not a good time to be hanging out alone.”

  “But Jasper wasn’t alone. He was in a campground with at least eight other camping groups. A really strange place to pull this.”

  “Which may be the biggest clue we have. Only problem is what to do with it.”

  Absently her fingers had begun to stroke the taut denim on his thigh. She’d always loved the feel of worn denim, but it never occurred to her that she was self-comforting. Well, possibly in the depths of h
er mind, but she wasn’t ready to face that.

  Her self-image was one of toughness. She’d survived Afghanistan and all that went with that. She’d helped lead convoys through hell, and for all she was supposed to be a noncombatant, being female, she’d seen plenty of combat. She could handle a lot, and getting in a tizzy over a random murder struck her as an extreme overreaction.

  Until she remembered Jimmy.

  “It’s the kid,” she said presently, her voice evincing the slightest tremor. She hated the sound of weakness. “I should be able to just let this go, Gus. Let the sheriff handle it. But I can’t and it’s because of that little boy. Sure, maybe the guy had a ton of enemies. Maybe he was a drug dealer or a mob type, or whatever. But what kind of sick twist would have him shot when he was in a tent with his little boy?”

  “That’s troubling, isn’t it?” Surprising her, he put his beer down then laid his hand over hers, clasping it lightly. “It bothers me, too. When it happened, I could see it might tear you apart.”

  “It was awful, Gus! That poor little kid! He didn’t understand what had happened, thank God. And I’m fairly sure he didn’t see how badly his father was wounded. I tried to keep my back to all that. But my God! What kind of sicko would do that?”

  Gus didn’t answer immediately. “Maybe he didn’t know the child was there. But a sicko any way you look at it, kid or no kid. The man was sound asleep in a tent. No chance to defend himself.”

  “And no chance to protect Jimmy. That shooter could have hit the boy, too. Accidentally or not. Everything about it makes me furious.”

  “I feel pretty angry myself,” he agreed.

  But as her thoughts roamed even further backward in time, Blaire remembered her days in the Army. “Too many kids get traumatized,” she said after a minute. “Too many. I just hope Jimmy has no clear memories of that night.”

  “Me, too.” He squeezed her hand. “You did what you could to protect him, Blaire. You took good care of him, from what I could see.”

  “Little enough.” She lowered her head, closing her eyes. “It’s killing me,” she admitted. “I want to get that guy. And I’m sure the impulse has mostly to do with Jimmy.”

  “Hardly surprising.” He turned a little, drawing her into a closer embrace. “We can only do what we can,” he reminded her. “Tomorrow we’ll check with the sheriff to make sure we won’t get in the way. Then we’ll build our strategy.”

  “I don’t recall any ops planning that happened like this.” Meaning the way he held her. She felt the laugh begin in his belly and roll upward until it emerged, a warm, amused sound.

  “Nope,” he agreed. “I remember always standing, or if we could sit, it was on miserable folding chairs around a table that was always gritty with dust. Hell, we were almost always gritty. We rigged a shower at our forward operating base and you’d barely switch into a clean set of camos before you’d be dusty again.”

  “It seemed like it. This is way more comfortable.”

  “By far.”

  She realized she was smiling into his shoulder. She wanted to wrap an arm around his waist but stopped herself. Lines that shouldn’t be crossed. She never wanted to lose Gus’s friendship.

  She spoke. “I appreciate you not coming over last night to watch over me.”

  “I don’t think I’m watching over you now. I’ve got a higher respect for your abilities, and it’s not my place, anyway. I just kept getting this sense that it might be easier for you not to be alone at night.”

  “Given what happened, you’re right.” In Afghanistan she’d almost never been alone. That was the whole idea of a unit. But she didn’t have a unit here to watch her back and there might still be a deranged killer out there running around in the woods. With everyone fleeing the campground, that didn’t leave many targets for him.

  “This brings me back to the random thing,” she remarked. “If he’s still hanging around out there, looking for someone else to shoot, the target population just shrank to next to nothing.”

  “I thought about that,” he agreed. “My end of the forest isn’t quite as deserted as yours, but I’m not sure that should make me feel complacent.”

  “Then there’s what Dave said this morning. People have started talking about scattered killings in the woods over the last few years. Some are calling for all of them to be investigated as one case.”

  “I’m sure Gage would do it if he had some proof.”

  “Exactly. When my computer is being reliable, I’ve spent hours today looking up news articles.” She fell silent, wishing she could let go of all of it and just enjoy this rare opportunity to be so close to Gus.

  “And?” he prompted her.

  “I think I found the murders that concern some people.” She sensed him grow more alert, a bit stiff.

  “And?” he asked again.

  “And people might be right. There are similarities but also differences.”

  “The gang-working-together idea?”

  “Makes you wonder.” Her heart grew heavy at the thought. “Gang. It sounds so much worse in a way.”

  “Also maybe easier to solve. More people, more chances for a slipup.”

  She tilted her head and he obligingly tilted his so they could look at one another from a distance of about three inches.

  “You’re a glass-half-full kinda guy.”

  “I try. Wish I could say I always succeed.”

  She smiled, lifted her hand a bit and lightly touched his cheek. “You’re a good influence.”

  “When I’m not in a dark pit.” But he didn’t seem to want to discuss that. “So, would it feel more like operational planning if I brought over a folding camp table and sprinkled a little dirt on it?”

  The laugh escaped her. She hadn’t even realized she was trembling on the cusp of one, but there it came. He had such a good effect on her, Gus did. He could steer a course through the difficult things and eventually bring back a happier mood. At least in her.

  She was well aware he carried his own troubled memories, and he’d shared them with her. At least some of them. But like a cork, he always managed to bob back up. She could use a touch of that.

  “Sure. I could even cut up the map.”

  He laughed again, his gray eyes dancing. “Absolutely. After all, every battle occurs at the juncture between four map sections...”

  “In the dark and in the rain,” she completed for him. An old saying, truer than she would have believed until she faced it.

  “We do so much on computers now,” she remarked, remembering scrolling through maps that were downloaded from a satellite.

  “When the connection worked. I didn’t like the limited view on the computer, though. Call me old-fashioned, but I always wanted a big paper map.”

  “Well, that’s what I’ve got. Better yet, they’re rolled, not folded, so no tears, and no corners at a point where we want to be.”

  He chuckled again. “There we go. I couldn’t ask for better. Do you have any idea how the terrain may have changed since the mapping?”

  “Some, but I’ve never done a complete survey. Basically, I’m here to make sure campers are safe and that no one commits vandalism or annoys anyone else. I know the ground I routinely cover pretty well. Then comes winter and it all changes anyway.”

  “Yeah. And we’re out there with an eye on possible avalanche risks after a heavy snow.” She knew he had pretty much the same winter tasks.

  “I’m not exactly looking for boulders that might have moved a few feet.” Closing a park didn’t mean no one would use it. A surprising number of people showed up to cross-country ski on fresh unpacked snow, or to hike around on snowshoes. Hardy types, but they weren’t always aware of winter dangers.

  Yes, there was a sign out front, and in several other locations, warning people they entered at their own risk. But that didn’t mean Bla
ire didn’t keep an eye out. She lived here year-round, including the deep winter months, so if someone needed something and could get to her, they’d find help.

  The hard part was keeping out the snowmobilers. The amount of damage they could do, even in the dead of winter, was appalling. It was a constant battle, even though there weren’t that many places where the woods opened up to give them a path.

  She closed her eyes, though, and thought about what it was like up here in the winter. Beautiful. Quiet. Serene. Almost magical. She found peace here. It filled her and mostly drove away the ghosts that followed her so restlessly.

  “I wish it were winter,” she heard herself murmur.

  “Yeah. Me, too.”

  She realized he’d helped ease her tension to the point that she was getting sleepy. Much as she hated to do it, she eased away from him. “Let me get you some blankets.”

  “Tired?”

  “I guess I’ve been more wound up since the murder than I realized.”

  He smiled and stood, offering his hand to help her up. “Sleep is always good. I think we both learned that the hard way. Where are the blankets? I can get them.”

  She pointed up to the loft. “My bedroom.”

  “Then just toss them down to me.”

  “Okay. You know where the half bath is?” Of course he did. This wasn’t his first visit to this cabin. She must be even more worn out than she had thought.

  After she tossed pillows and blankets down to him and said good-night, she pulled her boots off and flopped back on the bed. God, how had she grown so tired?

  Then she faced it. She hadn’t been sleeping well since the murder. She’d been on edge, wound up, and tossing and turning.

  But right now, calm seemed to have descended. Gus was downstairs. She could let go of everything and let relaxation seep through her every cell.

  Problems could wait for morning.

  And almost before she finished the thought, she fell soundly asleep, still dressed, her legs hanging over the edge of the bed.