Dust Up With The Detective

Dust Up With The Detective Danica Winters Murder in Montana is never simpleEvery dead body in Butte is someone’s kin. Detective Jeremy Lawrence has investigated so many wrongdoings, but he still never imagined how it’d feel to be standing over his own brother. Until now. Thankfully, he has the help of Deputy Blake West, a woman he's known his entire life—and wanted for as long as he can remember.It’s been forever since Blake has seen Jeremy, and she has questions for the hot-as-sin lawman. But her interrogation must wait once she learns the killer has set his sights on Blake’s daughter. They promise to put family first, but time is running out to uncover the Lawrence family’s secrets—and rebuild what Jeremy and Blake thought they’d broken long ago… Murder in Montana is never simple Every dead body in Butte is someone’s kin. Detective Jeremy Lawrence has investigated so many wrongdoings, but he still never imagined how it’d feel to be standing over his own brother. Until now. Thankfully, he has the help of Deputy Blake West, a woman he’s known his entire life—and wanted for as long as he can remember. It’s been forever since Blake has seen Jeremy, and she has questions for the hot-as-sin lawman. But her interrogation must wait once she learns the killer has set his sights on Blake’s daughter. They promise to put family first, but time is running out to uncover the Lawrence family’s secrets—and rebuild what Jeremy and Blake thought they’d broken long ago... “The person behind this doesn’t have respect for law enforcement. They think they’re above the law. They’ve killed once, and they won’t hesitate to do it again. If we get close, our lives might be in danger.” Blake shook her head. “Just because we made a mistake in there,” she said, pointing to the office, “doesn’t mean that you have to be dramatic. We’re fine.” Her words made goose bumps rise on his arms. Anytime he’d ever gotten complacent in his job, or thought he was safe, was when he’d found himself in trouble. “Think about it, Blake.” Her name felt like velvet on his tongue; it even tasted sweet. He paused as he just looked at her for a moment. “What?” she asked, locking eyes with him. And when she did, all he could think about was closing the distance between them. Dust Up with the Detective Danica Winters www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk) DANICA WINTERS is a multiple award-winning, bestselling author who writes books that grip readers with their ability to drive emotion through suspense and occasionally a touch of magic. When she’s not working, she can be found in the wilds of Montana, testing her patience while she tries to hone her skills at various crafts—quilting, pottery and painting are not her areas of expertise. She believes the cup is neither half-full nor half-empty, but it better be filled with wine. Visit her website at www.danicawinters.net (http://www.danicawinters.net). CAST OF CHARACTERS (#ulink_3546de01-8641-5d5d-ac39-cd6474bbd224) Deputy Blake West—A former Butte sweetheart, Blake wanted nothing more than to escape the tiny backwoods mining town, but circumstances—and a child—kept her tied down. Finally standing on her own two feet, she finds that she must not only break free of the demons from her past, but also fight the power that wants to keep her relegated to the shadows. Detective Jeremy Lawrence—The Missoula detective is called to the scene when his brother goes missing and is presumed dead in his mine claim. When he arrives, he finds his family in shambles and a world built of memories—some that were better left behind. Gemma West—Mother to Blake West and her biggest supporter—though they often don’t see eye to eye. Megan West—Blake West’s daughter, and the most important person in Blake’s life. Robert Lawrence—Owner of the Foreman Mine who is missing and possibly dead. He is the delinquent black sheep of the three Lawrence brothers. Tiffany Lawrence—A woman with a past filled with drugs, lies and deception. Married to Robert Lawrence, but has the spirit of a gypsy and the soul of a killer. Mayor John Engelman—Small-town mayor who believes he is not only above the law, but that he makes the law. Judith Davy—The mayor’s wife, but just like her husband doesn’t let the law stand in the way of getting what she wants. Todd O’Brien—Landowner and hermit who wants nothing more than to be left alone—especially by law enforcement as they never see eye to eye on land-use practices or his midnight shootouts. To Herb— You make everything possible. Always and forever. Acknowledgements (#ulink_7deb59b1-fef6-5dec-b217-3eb5d9e849b7) This book wouldn’t have been possible without the help of my community. Major thanks to the Missoula County Sheriff’s Office and Brenda Bassett for their time and patience in helping to answer questions. Sergeant Prather, it was an honor to have had the opportunity for a ride along and to pick your brain. Your advice was invaluable. And to all those who serve our communities, you and your family’s sacrifice are appreciated. You help to make the world a better place. Contents Cover (#ua3949cd8-ba50-5a4e-bdc4-93f5c414a72e) Back Cover Text (#u5be3f65b-07b0-5a92-bfbb-c82d713dd195) Introduction (#u03322356-e524-5e0b-878f-32144da73a78) Title Page (#u484494ae-e3b6-515c-a7ac-03e12dea4138) About the Author (#uc766a373-1139-5b54-a14c-b574db5dd825) CAST OF CHARACTERS (#ulink_8fb08ffc-fa31-5c56-868a-c2ac1e41ec62) Dedication (#u9a77ca41-c857-5e3e-b216-18513a13410e) Acknowledgements (#ulink_d9b09c03-d1f6-5638-a413-954757e0b8d1) Chapter One (#uc50bf41f-1cd2-5e48-9fe1-30d4fd2203ef) Chapter Two (#u1f2d32e0-aaff-53e8-813c-b66893f1465c) Chapter Three (#ufe58e7d6-a5cd-5c8a-9ab8-3865610a13cc) Chapter Four (#u3e1bd781-f92b-536f-b759-2afb6f4a2c47) Chapter Five (#ua703543c-1f26-5a09-9137-71c34c7e9d4c) Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo) Extract (#litres_trial_promo) Copyright (#litres_trial_promo) Chapter One (#ulink_e597249a-1f42-55ab-893d-81dc87cfd9e0) Everything in Montana was measured by time, not miles driven, not quality and not sacrifice. For example, the trip from Missoula to Butte took just under two hours. And her boyfriend? Nearly three months. At sixteen, the relationship had been too short to be called serious, yet long enough to leave her with a child. Then, in less than ten seconds, the relationship was over and she had been left with a beautiful daughter and fading dreams. That was thirteen years ago. Thirteen terrifying, humbling and gratifying years. Nights spent soothing her daughter when she had ear infections, and days spent struggling to get where she was—a sheriff’s officer with a steady job and a stable income. She was the only one strong enough to support her mother and her daughter. They needed her. Dreams were for those who could afford them—and that would never be Blake West. Her antiquated patrol unit’s radio crackled to life as the 9-1-1 dispatcher’s voice filled the car. “Blake, your mom called. Said there’s some kind of issue up at your place.” She picked up the handset. “Dispatch, feel free to remind my mother that nine-one-one is to be used for emergencies only.” “You tell your mother that,” the woman said with a laugh. Blake shook her head, as she thought about telling her throwback-to-another-era Irish mother that she wasn’t to do something. Blake had a better chance of convincing the Pope to give up being Catholic. “Really, though,” the dispatcher continued, “she said your cell wasn’t working. She sounded really upset.” Blake picked up her cell phone. Just like half of Silver Bow County, there was no service today where yesterday there had been—just another perk of living in a state where technology was an unreliable amenity. “Is Megan okay?” “She didn’t say. Just said she needed you to come home.” Blake stepped on the gas as she turned the car down the set of roads that led to their house. “If she calls back, tell her I’m on my way.” She flicked on her lights and sped down the pothole-ravaged road that led to the house on the outskirts of the mining-centered city of Butte. At one time the historical city had been beautiful with its brick buildings and Old West charm. There had been an uptick in the mine’s activities around the city in the 1990s, but now it was a decaying mass of run-down miner’s row houses and the home of a pit full of water so toxic that it even killed the birds that dared to land on its surface. Most of those left in town were small-time miners, those who hoped the large mine operations would open again someday, or those who had retired from the Pit. It was the city of the strong, a city of survivors—just like Blake and her mother. Gemma West could handle anything. If she was as upset as the dispatcher said, something had to be majorly wrong. Had something happened to Megan? She was old enough to know the rules, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t done something to put herself in danger. Blake took a series of long breaths as she forced herself to remain calm. Megan was probably fine. She pulled to a stop in front of their beige ranch-style home, which rested behind a mature, though chemically stunted, pine. Near its base was a scar from her father’s car the day he’d left so many years ago. She’d always hated and loved that tree. It was a visible reminder of days and lives spent scratching and tearing away in the mines that were the fulcrum of the corrupt city and how that city and its vices had destroyed her family. No matter how many years went by, the tree would never grow, never change. Too much damage had been done. “Mom! Megan?” she yelled, hoping they would step out the front door to meet her. It was dead quiet. She made her way up the steps and opened the aluminum screen door with a rattle. “Mom, you home? Megan?” she called, her voice nearing frantic tones only a dog could hear. The smell of home cooking, the kind done by generations who didn’t care about waistlines or cholesterol, wafted from the kitchen. “Mom?” she asked, moving toward the scent of fried chicken. Something was terribly wrong. Her mother could hear a car coming from ten miles down the road, and she was notorious for meeting Blake at the front door, judgment in hand. She moved to call for her daughter but stopped as the sound of the back door’s rusty hinges screeched. She wasn’t alone. Out of instinct, she reached down and put her hand on her Glock, unclicking the snap that held it safely in its holster. After slipping the gun out, she raised it, ready to meet whatever or whomever she would find in the kitchen. The old wooden floor creaked as she tried to sneak down the hall. Pressing her back against the wall, she readied herself. Had someone broken in? Was someone trying to take her daughter? Her daughter. She lowered her gun. Maybe it was just Megan. The girl loved to surprise her—to jump out from behind walls and make her scream. If it was, she couldn’t let her law enforcement training come into play. She couldn’t risk hurting someone she loved. “Megan, is that you?” she asked, trying to sound playful instead of terrified. “Pumpkin, you need to answer me.” She lowered her gun and hid it behind her hip as she eased around the corner and into the kitchen. On the counter under the window, a fresh plate of fried chicken sat cooling, its oil oozing into the paper towel underneath. A can of beans was next to the plate, the can opener still resting on its lip, as if her mother had been opening it but had suddenly been called away. A movement outside caught her eye as something scuttled across the backyard and disappeared behind the shed. The hair on her arms rose. What is going on? She took a step toward the back door. Megan’s scream pierced the air. The sound resonated from the darkened shed. Blake ran outside. Gun raised. Ready. If someone was hurting her daughter, they would die. Through the thin particleboard door of the shed, she heard muffled voices. She stopped, trying to quiet her breathing as she listened. She could barely make out her mother’s voice. She moved to the door. “Get down! Get down on the ground!” she yelled, kicking open the door, smashing it against the wall. Megan was sitting at the table, her back to her. A man stood in the shadows, his arm raised. He was holding something. “Put down your weapon!” Blake ordered. The man moved, and a thin light from the tiny, dirt-covered window reflected off the blade of a hacksaw. “I said put down your weapon!” She aimed her gun at his center mass. The man looked at her. In the shadows she could make out only the whites of his eyes and the slight movement of his lips as he started to speak. “Mom, no!” Megan turned around. Her round face was covered in sweat, and her eyes were wide with fear. She raised her hands. Her wrists were in shackles. Blake’s finger trembled on the trigger as the man slowly lowered his weapon to the floor. “What in the hell do you think you are doing to my daughter?” Chapter Two (#ulink_8d3697af-07e3-5577-9c70-1fe947a77158) “Not every situation requires a gun,” Gemma said as she walked up the steps to the back door. “You scared poor Megan. Didn’t she, honey?” Her mother wrapped her arm around her daughter and gave her a reassuring squeeze. “I’m fine, Grandma, really.” Megan tried to wiggle out of her embrace. Blake snorted lightly. If the girl was a bit older, she would have realized that, for good or bad, no matter how much she struggled, she would never be out of Gemma West’s grip. “I’m sorry about this mess, Jeremy. Having a gun pointed at you isn’t much of a thank-you for your help in trying to get Megan out of those handcuffs,” her mother continued. Blake looked over at Jeremy Lawrence. She’d always thought of him as the gangly neighbor she had once had a crush on, but seeing the grown-up detective now, it was clear he was nothing like the boy she remembered. Now he stood tall with impossibly wide shoulders, a chiseled jaw and the piercing green eyes of a stranger. Everything from the way he walked, solid and firm, to the way he watched their every move, in control and ever vigilant, screamed alpha man. “You’re a tough one, Megan,” Jeremy said as he held the door for them. “You remind me of my daughter. I think you’d like her. Once she got ahold of my handset and started playing Simon Says on the radio. It was funny, except for the fact that it was on a live channel. I thought the dispatchers were going to lose it.” He turned to Blake and smiled like he understood what she was going through as a single mother. She gave him a thankful nod, but he couldn’t possibly know how hard it was. How each day she was plagued with Mom-guilt—the overwhelming fear that no matter what choices she made, she should be doing more for her daughter. As it was, she tried her best to be there for Megan, but because of the crazy nature of her job and her unconventional schedule, Megan was often left with her grandmother—who never missed an opportunity to remind Blake of all the things she could do better. There was no way Jeremy could understand all the hats she had to wear to make it through the day. “Were you mad when your daughter messed up, Mr. Lawrence?” Megan asked him as she made her way into the house. Jeremy shook his head as he smiled at Blake. “It was my fault. It hadn’t occurred to me she would play with my scanner.” “See, Mom, he wasn’t mad when his daughter screwed up.” Megan looked back at her as if gauging her residual anger. “I’m not mad,” Blake said as she followed her mother and daughter inside. “I just don’t understand what possessed you to take my handcuffs out of my drawer and put them on. You had no business—” Jeremy put his hand on her lower back as he followed her inside and let the door close behind them. His hot, familiar touch made her stop midsentence. “I’m sure she didn’t mean to upset you, Blake. Did you, Meg?” he asked, smiling as he gently moved his hand away, leaving behind the warmth of his touch. Did he know what he was doing to her? The last man who had touched her, at least in that way, had been Megan’s father. Sure, she and Jeremy had known each other as children, but he couldn’t touch her so familiarly—not when their friendship had existed a lifetime ago. “I’m sorry, Mom,” Megan said. “Jeremy’s right. It’s your mom’s fault,” Gemma said as she moved through the kitchen. “If she wouldn’t have left the handcuffs where you could find them, none of this would have happened.” She turned to face Blake. “And it would have been nice if you would have answered your phone.” She loved her mom, but the jab pierced deep, puncturing the little bubble of guilt that she tried to keep out of reach. Her mother was right; she had messed up. She shouldn’t have left her cuffs where Megan could find them. But... “Mother, I have no control over where and when my phone works—you know this.” “Well, I don’t think you have any business traipsing around the county without a phone that works. Do I need to call the sheriff to make sure you get a satellite phone?” She looked to Jeremy. He didn’t need to hear any of this. The last thing she needed was another officer thinking she was incompetent, or worse—that she needed her mother to fight her battles. He gave her a Cheshire-cat grin, the same mischievous grin that he’d always used to get them out of trouble when they were kids. “Mrs. West, is that your famous fried chicken?” He motioned toward the plate on the counter. Her mother took the bait, brightening up at the chance to feed a man. “Oh, are you hungry? Why don’t you have a bite?” True to her nature, the question was more an order than a request. “I’ll throw the beans on, and it’ll be ready in a jiff.” “That sounds great, but I need to get running home. I’m just up from Missoula for the night.” “Really? Is everything okay?” From the look on her face, it seemed like Gemma meant the question to come from a place of concern, but her voice made it clear that she was more curious than empathetic. As if she looked forward to some thread of gossip that she could share at the next bunco party. “I’m sure everything’s okay. Right, Jeremy?” Blake hinted, hoping that he would take this as his chance to get out before he and his family became the central focus of the Butte Red Hatters Bunco Club for the next six months. He looked at her, his eyes shimmering with something she could have sworn resembled lust, but she shrugged it off. There was no way he would be interested in her. He was married. She glanced down at his ring finger—his ring was missing. That’s right... He’d gotten a divorce. When her mother had told her about it a few months past, she had pushed the news aside as irrelevant. Yet, with him standing in front of her, it seemed more relevant than ever. The knot in her gut tightened as she forced herself to look away from his naked hand. Even if he wasn’t married, he wouldn’t want her. No man would want to take on a single mom who lived with her mother and was struggling to make it in a small-town sheriff’s department—unless he was a glutton for punishment. “Things are a little rough. You know...family drama.” Her mother perked up. “What’s going on?” “It’s just my brother. He’s going through a hard time.” “Is that right,” her mother chimed. “Is there anything I can do?” “Thanks, Mrs. W, but it’ll be all right.” Jeremy sent her a grateful but guarded smile. “Unfortunately, I’ll have to pass on the chicken—but it smells great,” he added, as her mother’s face fell. “Oh, okay,” she said, her voice specked with disappointment, the kind that always moved Blake into doing whatever it was Gemma truly wanted. Jeremy’s body tensed, his biceps pressing hard against his cotton T-shirt. Apparently, Gemma West’s shaming worked on someone besides her. Why did her mother have to put everyone under her spell? Megan thumped down in the chair by the dining table. “Mom, I’m hungry.” “Thank you, Jeremy, for helping us out,” Blake said, motioning toward her daughter. He glanced at her and smiled again. The way he looked at her made her temperature rise. No one had looked at her like that, like she really existed as something more than a mother or a sheriff’s deputy, in a long time. She turned away as she scolded herself. He was just looking at her. It didn’t mean anything. She was lonely. She needed to get a handle on her emotions. Crushes were for those who had a chance—which she didn’t. He needed to go. She simply could not be around a man like him. “I need to get back to work. After you?” She walked to the door and opened it, motioning for him to leave. He turned to walk out. “I hope everything goes well with your brother. By the way, which brother is it?” her mother called behind him, throwing a speed bump into Blake’s plans. Jeremy looked back over his shoulder. “Robert.” “Where’s Casper these days?” her mother continued. Blake’s sweaty hand slipped on the open door. “He’s working up north with Border Patrol.” “That’s wonderful,” her mom said, turning to her with a raise of the eyebrow. She flashed a glance back at Jeremy, like she was trying to coach Blake on how to get him to stay. “Isn’t that nice, Blake?” “Yes, that’s great, Mother.” Jeremy chuckled. “If you need me again, Mrs. W, I’ll be in town for a couple of days.” He brushed against Blake as he made his way out the door. His touch magnified the need she was trying her best to ignore. “Hey, if you need a break, maybe we could meet up sometime,” he whispered so low that only she could hear. In a flash, she was back in high school, and they were planning to sneak out of the house. The thrill of being caught and the excitement that came with breaking the rules filled her. Just as quickly as the feelings rose, she stomped them out. She wasn’t sixteen. She was a mother. And her daughter came first—no matter how badly she wanted to take Jeremy up on his offer. “Thanks, but maybe next time you’re in town.” He nodded, but there was a faint look of hurt deep in his eyes as he turned away. She couldn’t help taking one last look as he walked away. His jeans were the kind with the fancy stitching on the back pockets, the kind that always drew a person’s eye to them and, in this case, to his perfectly round behind. Clearly the man worked out. Dang it. She forced herself to look away. What was wrong with her today? She could feel her mother’s eyes boring into her back. She needed to leave, to get to work, but she let the door close as she turned back to her family. “That right there is why you don’t have a man in your life,” her mother said with a tsk as she flurried around the kitchen, getting the potato salad out of the fridge. “Maybe I don’t have a man in my life because I don’t want one,” Blake retorted. Instantly she wished she hadn’t, because it would only allow her mother to continue on her soapbox. “That Jeremy, he’s got a good head on his shoulders. You need a man like him. You would get one, if you weren’t so hard to please.” That was the pot calling the kettle black. “Here you go, sweetie.” Her mother set a plate of fried chicken and potato salad in front of Megan and went back to the can of beans. “Thanks, Grandma.” Blake glanced down at her watch. “I need to go.” She gave Megan a kiss on the top of the head while her daughter chomped away. “Please don’t get into any more of my things.” “Wait,” her mother said. “Why don’t you eat first?” There was a rumble in her stomach, but she had to escape the mess that was her personal life. Work was so much easier. “I’m good, Mom.” “Fine then.” Her mother’s disdain was palpable. “At least take the rest of this food over to Jeremy and his family as a thank-you. You know, he didn’t have to come over here to help us. It was just lucky he was even around. We could have been all day if we had to wait for you.” The sharp edge of her mother’s words deepened her wounds. It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be closer to her family, but she had to work. She had to support the people she loved most, even if they sometimes forgot how much pressure she was under. Her mother covered the plate of chicken with plastic wrap, then shoved it into Blake’s hands. “Now run along. And don’t get lost with my chicken.” Her mother pushed her out the door. “And make sure you let his mother know that I’d like my plate back.” It was like she was eight years old again, her mother moving her along in her pursuit toward her own means. She would never be exactly what Gemma wanted her to be, would always be a disappointment, constantly seeking her mother’s approval and trying to make her proud. No matter how badly she wanted them to, some things would never change. Chapter Three (#ulink_cc00aef3-a176-50f6-8558-1659fb46bc2e) Splitting the blanket. Trimming away the deadweight. Losing one’s other half. Detective Jeremy Lawrence had heard them all, but they all meant one thing: he was divorced. He thumbed the empty place on his ring finger where his wedding band used to be. Genevieve had made such a big deal about the ring when they were first together. She hadn’t wanted him to wear yellow gold, claiming it would clash with her engagement ring—a ring she’d also picked out—and he couldn’t get silver as it would tarnish. He’d felt like an idiot standing there in the jewelry store getting told that tungsten was really the best option for him, but at twenty-two he’d been young and dumb and willing to put up with anything if it meant he got to marry her. Heck, he’d thought himself lucky. She’d been the cheerleader, the girl who could light up a room with a smile and, better yet, make him burn with want with the mere trailing of her fingertips. Everything, all the way down to her name, had to be classy. The marriage had been over the minute she had figured out he was just a regular guy, not the idealized version she must have had in her mind. He reached in his pocket, pulled out the ring and let it drop on his dresser, the dresser he’d had since he was a child. It was funny how a piece of unloved furniture could last longer than a marriage. If nothing else, it proved that a dead oak was stronger than a life built on feelings. Maybe there really was something to being cold, lifeless...at least you could weather the storms. None of it mattered. He’d gotten a daughter out of their screwed-up marriage. He could be thankful for that, even if Penny didn’t live with him. At least he had something to hold on to. His father’s footsteps echoed down the hall toward his room; there was a knock on the door. “Jeremy, you in there?” “Yeah, Dad. What do you need?” “Your mother’s wondering when you’re going to run out to Robert’s. It would be good if you could get out there before dark,” his father said, as if he hadn’t heard them fighting over Robert for the last ten minutes. It was funny; he’d been home just a few hours, but when he had set foot in the door it was like he had stepped back in time—parents fighting, brother missing and him searching for a way to escape. Just like when he’d been a kid, he’d found refuge at the neighbors’, but instead of being the one who needed to be saved, this time he’d paid them back for all the times Mrs. W was there for him. Finally things were coming full circle. And just like the past, Blake had rushed him to the door while she made a point of being out-of-bounds. He took one last look at the ring, now at home tucked safely away in his past. “I was just about to head out,” he told his father. “Good,” his father said, turning to leave. “Oh, and Blake is here. Brought over some supper as a thank-you.” He figured Mrs. W must have forced her to come over. It really was like all those years ago. He loved his family, but he needed to get the hell out of Butte and away from the ghosts that haunted this place—regardless of how beautiful one particular ghost was. Blake stood in the living room, her hand on the doorknob. She was talking to his mother, who was sitting in her recliner. Blake’s uniform top was stretched tight over her bulletproof vest. The buttons gaped slightly, revealing a T-shirt underneath. As she moved, he caught a quick glimpse of her black bra strap, and he felt his body shift in response. There was just something so right about a woman who wore a uniform and sexy lingerie underneath. He wanted to rip open her shirt and her vest, kiss the lines of her lacy bra, slip what he figured would be matching black panties down her legs. Jeremy forced himself to look away, focusing on the painting of a meadow that had hung on the living room wall so long that there was a faint brown smoke line around it. “Blake was just telling me that she has seen Robert lately,” his mother started. “Isn’t that right, Blake?” Blake nodded. “Apparently she was out to his place a few weeks ago.” His mother tapped her fingers on the armrests of her chair. “It wasn’t anything that major,” Blake offered. “There was just a minor dispute. It was in the Montana Standard. I thought you must have heard.” He hadn’t read the local newspaper in years, but Blake was right. It was surprising his mother hadn’t gotten a call from the phone tree. Her friends lived for nothing more than to read the obituaries and scan through the weekly police blotter. “What happened?” Jeremy asked. Blake chewed on her lower lip, and her gaze flickered to his mother, as if there was something that she didn’t want to say in front of her. “You know, just the normal thing.” “Was it something to do with his wife?” His mother turned to him. “Tiffany has been threatening to leave him for months now. I told you that Robert needed your help. I wish you could’ve been here earlier, Jeremy.” “Well, Mom, you know how it is. Work’s been busy,” he said, but he was focused on Blake and how she shifted her weight from one foot to the other. His mother said something under her breath that he was only too glad he couldn’t hear. He made his way to Blake and opened the door. “You busy this afternoon?” Blake glanced down at her watch. “Why?” He waited for her to step outside and let the door close behind him. “I’d appreciate it if you can fill me in on what’s going on with my brother,” he told Blake. She waved goodbye to his mother through the glass storm door. “Look, I appreciate what you did with Megan, but I don’t want to get involved with you or whatever it is you have going on.” “Whoa.” He breathed out, unsure why she had been so abrupt. “I just thought—” She raised her hand. “No, stop. I shouldn’t have lost my temper. I’m not upset with you. It’s just my mother.” She motioned toward her house. She had every right to be upset after what she had walked into. It would have taken more than a little fried chicken to talk him down if he’d walked into a scene with someone holding a hacksaw over his daughter’s head. Unlike her, he didn’t know if he could have held back from shooting. His gaze drifted to the utility belt at her waist. “Lots of calls coming in?” he asked as they walked across the lawn toward her house. She slipped out her cell phone and glanced down at it. “To be honest, no. But I should be on patrol.” “What time do you get off?” “Not for a few more hours.” “Well, if you aren’t busy, I would really appreciate you running to Robert’s with me.” She looked up at him, her blue eyes reflecting the color of the sky. “I would hate to be walking into a mess up there.” He silently hoped she would say yes, and it wasn’t just because he wanted her to tell him about Robert. It had to do with the desire that seemed to rise in him every time he caught a glimpse of her. “You heading up there now?” she asked him. He nodded. She nibbled her lip again, making him wonder if he made her as uncomfortable as she made him. “I did want to talk to Robert, make sure everything had smoothed out. You could ride with me, but you know—” “I’ll follow you up there.” He motioned toward his truck. “I’d hate to get you in trouble. We have to follow protocol.” There was a hint of a smile as she looked at him. “You say that, but we both know you’ve always been the kind who likes to make his own rules.” * * * ROBERT’S HOUSE SAT off a dirt road, shrouded by trees and brush. On the neighboring property, old cars and trailers in varying stages of rust were parked in a haphazard pattern. Between the rusting carcasses were piles of downed trees and garbage. A few of the detritus hills were covered with tarps whose prime of life had passed years ago and now were nothing more than weathered strings broken up by little squares of blue. He’d always hated this place, the world his brother called home. The drive that led to Robert’s house was a steady climb, and Blake was taking it at a crawl in her patrol unit, twisting and turning as she attempted to miss the washed-out ruts in the dirt. This wasn’t the kind of place in which one wanted to find oneself stranded. Everything about the deep woods spoke of danger, from the road all the way down to the twisted faces that peered out from the windows of the derelict homes they passed. Rising from the brush was a building, still covered in Tyvek plastic wrap, as if any day the construction company would come back and finish siding the house they had built—only it had been years since they’d been there. The roof sagged in the middle from too many heavy snows and too little care. His brother had always cared more about what was in the earth than what was on top of it, and it had even been that way with his wife, Tiffany. The poor woman had more than her fair share to deal with when it came to Robert. Then again, Jeremy wasn’t in a spot to judge anyone else’s relationship. For years, everyone had told him how great his marriage was, yet behind closed doors it was a different story—late-night fights about his schedule, the stress that came with being in law enforcement and the money. In the end, there was never enough money, time or even love. Blake pulled to a stop and got out, waiting for him. He parked next to her and met her at her car. “So, fill me in. What kind of trouble has my brother been getting himself into now?” Robert had always fallen in and out of the bottle and usually directly into the hands of the law, leaving Jeremy to clean up his mess. The last time he’d talked to Robert they’d had one hell of a beer-fueled fight, ending with Robert on the ground and him promising to never lift another finger to save his brother’s lousy carcass. Yet here he was again. “I was called here a few weeks ago, but it wasn’t for Tiffany, as your mother assumed.” Blake leaned against her patrol car, the round curve of her hips on full display. “This time, Robert was having an altercation with his neighbor, Todd O’Brien.” She pointed in the direction of the property that was full of rusted-out shells of cars. “This happen before?” She nodded and gave a slight shrug. “You know how it is—most people out here live with a militia-like mentality. It’s all about the guns, the freedom of speech and action. Out here the law is more of a recommendation than a reality. When something needs to be handled, vigilante justice reigns.” It was funny. No matter where you were in Montana—whether in the city of Missoula or the hillsides on the outskirts of Silver Bow County—some of the same problems arose. Usually they centered on two things: guns and liquor. Sometimes he couldn’t help feeling like he lived in the Wild West. Jeremy looked up at his brother’s house. The lights were off, and the doors were closed. Leaves littered the front porch. “You think Robert said something, and it set this O’Brien off?” “We couldn’t make much of the situation. Neither wanted to press charges, but we left them both with a warning that they needed to bring the conflict down and keep it under control.” She sighed. “Without one of them wanting to press charges, there wasn’t much we could do. Your brother was pretty upset about the guns, though, wanted us to at least write O’Brien a ticket for a noise disturbance, but we hadn’t heard any of it.” Jeremy nodded. “My brother has a way of pissing people off and getting in trouble. You out here often?” Somehow it felt like a poorly timed come-on. She nodded, with a faint smile like she had heard it, too, but was letting it go. “Your brother has some issues...but I always said you can’t judge someone by their family.” He raised an eyebrow. “You think?” “I’m nothing like my mother—at least I hope not.” She laughed. “And from what your mother’s told me, I assume you’re nothing like your brother.” There was something in her voice that made it clear she didn’t necessarily like Robert. But did that mean she liked him? He shook the thought from his head. He couldn’t read anything into this. She made her way up the front porch and knocked on the door. There was no answer. “You think he’s still working in the mine?” Blake asked. “Probably. We can run down there and take a look. It’s not too far,” he said, motioning her to follow him as he led the way down the well-worn path that headed to the Foreman Mine. Though he tried not to, he kept glancing back, making sure she was okay. Each time he checked on her, she looked away as if she was purposefully avoiding his gaze. The air between them filled with the crunch of dead pine needles as they hiked. “He mine copper?” she asked, as if she was as uncomfortable with the silence between them as he was. “Yep, but he finds gold and other heavy metals, as well. Makes a decent living, but you couldn’t get me to do what he does.” “Mining is hard work.” “That’s not it,” he said. “I couldn’t handle being underground all day, every day.” Though, as he said it, it reminded him of his own job. There he was usually sitting behind his desk, exploring the dark corners of a crime, looking for any clue that would lead to the mother lode. “You scared of the dark?” She looked at him with a teasing smirk. “It’s good to know that even a tough guy like you has a weakness.” It wasn’t the dark he was afraid of. No...it was the fear of the world collapsing in around him. He’d already had it happen once when his marriage ended. He wasn’t about to open himself up to such a failure again. He glanced over at her, catching her gaze. “We all have weaknesses.” She slipped slightly, catching herself with the help of the branch of a small pine. He took her hand. Her sweaty fingers gripped his just long enough for her to get her feet under her, but she quickly let go to brush herself off. “Ha!” she said, her cheeks turning a light shade of red. “I guess my weakness is walking.” Jeremy laughed, the sound out of place in the quiet, stunted forest. For a moment he considered holding her hand the rest of the way down to the mouth of the mine, but she didn’t seem like the type who wanted help, and he couldn’t just elbow his way into her life—she wasn’t his wife. She wasn’t anything but a former crush. In truth, he didn’t know her anymore. All he really knew was that she had her daughter, her mother and a job that, when she spoke of it, made her entire body tense. He motioned for her to take the lead, admittedly because he wanted to watch her butt but ostensibly so he could make sure she was safe as she steadily made her way down the hill. He wasn’t disappointed as he watched her. She moved with a quiet grace, smooth and steady as she carefully picked her way between the granite boulders as they headed into the maw of the earth. Blake took out her flashlight and clicked it on. “Is this it?” she asked, motioning toward the dark, cavelike entrance. In truth, it had been years since he’d been to the mine. The last time he’d been there the opening had been easily identifiable. Yet as she flashed her light downward, all he could make out were mounds of pegmatite-rich, reddish dirt. “It should be here. Right here.” He frowned. Grabbing his phone, he clicked on the light and moved into the muddy hole. “There should be a way in here.” He prodded around, but the ground that filled the entrance shaft was as solid and compact as cement. “Are you sure this is the place?” Blake asked. “I thought so.” There was something wrong. The dirt in the entrance was wet, but it hadn’t rained in a month. And even though the dirt that filled the shaft’s entrance was compact, the ground under their feet was loose, compressing as he shifted his weight. It had to have been freshly exposed. He took a step forward. His toe caught on a loose rock, tripping him. He shone his light at the ground. Beneath the cobble that littered the area was a crushed lantern—the lantern Robert hung on the entrance of the mine any time he was underground. “You don’t think—” Blake started. Jeremy stopped her with a raise of his hand. He couldn’t stand hearing what he already knew—the mine had collapsed. He prayed Robert wasn’t inside, but the lamp told him all he needed to know. Robert was trapped, and there was only a slight chance he could still be alive. Chapter Four (#ulink_917544e9-77ce-51cc-8ef1-91c3320762ff) The insides of Jeremy’s hands where covered in blisters. Dirt caked his nails, and his knuckles were bloody where he had torn them against the earth, but the job of freeing his brother had been too big for one man. Blake watched the firefighters milling around outside the mine, taking a break from their attempts to break through the concrete-like blockade that filled its entrance. They had been at it for hours. They’d finally gotten an excavator on-site and received the go-ahead to start a full excavation. From the look on Jeremy’s face, it had already taken too long. Blake walked up the hill toward Robert’s house and motioned for Jeremy to follow. Jeremy walked beside her, his movement slow and numb. She had to do something, anything to help. For the second time that day, she felt powerless in her inability to control the events that swirled around them. “Have you asked your parents if they’ve heard anything from Robert? Maybe he’s tried to call?” As soon as the words left her lips, she knew they were in vain. Of course he couldn’t call, but she had to say something to make the agonizing look on Jeremy’s face disappear. “There’s no cell service in the mine—I can guarantee it.” His eyes darkened, and his face tightened, the sexy lines around his eyes deepening. “Besides, there’s no use in getting them up in arms. If we call them, they’ll ask too many questions.” He was right. There was no sense alerting his parents that something was amiss if this was some kind of wild-goose chase. She could just imagine her mother getting a similar call. In a matter of minutes, Gemma West would have been on the scene and attempting to tell the crew exactly how they should be doing their jobs. No, family could wait. She stepped up onto the porch and pressed her face against the window in the door. Inside Robert’s one-room cabin was an open sofa bed and a wood-burning fireplace. The walls were covered in pictures of elk and bear, and a mounted trout hung over the kitchen window. A gun rack hung over the bed, and a small-caliber rifle sat nestled in its grips. It was as if the place had been intentionally stripped of all things feminine. “Do you think it’s possible Tiffany left him?” she asked. Jeremy shrugged, staring ahead as if he was lost deep in thought. “Is this what the house looked like the last time you were here?” “What do you mean?” Jeremy moved beside her and peered inside. “I...uh... I just mean I don’t see anything of Tiffany’s. Wouldn’t you think if she was still living here you’d at least see a stray hair tie or something? It’s almost like there hasn’t been a woman here in a long time.” “Robert and Tiffany...” Jeremy gave a tired sigh. “They have more issues than National Geographic. They’re constantly at each other’s throats. If she left, good for her. It’s the best for both of them.” Robert’s personal life was in shambles. Could that have meant he would have wanted to end things? As a miner, he had everything he needed to cave in the mine’s entrance. Maybe it had been his way of never being found. On the table underneath the window was a ledger. She squinted through the glass as she tried to make out the penciled notes. She read the most recent one scrawled onto the time sheets. September 23 Time in: 06:30 Time out: The time out sat empty, echoing all the things it could possibly mean—or the one thing she feared most. “Was your brother having any other issues? Anything going on as far as his mental health is concerned?” Jeremy stepped around to the bay window and peered in through the glass. “My mother said he’s been agitated lately. Thought it had something to do with Tiffany.” “Any signs of depression?” She instinctively looked toward the sofa bed, where the sheets sat in a rumpled mess at the end of the mattress. “I don’t know. It’s hard to say. Robert has always been one who kept his cards close to his chest.” There was something in Jeremy’s voice, almost as if there were pangs of guilt that rested just under the surface of his words. “Do you think he would have ever tried to commit suicide?” Jeremy jerked. She shouldn’t have just thrown it out there. He was feeling something...some sort of guilt or perhaps vulnerability; she couldn’t be sure. She should have been softer in her delivery, but the officer in her corrected her. She had to ask the questions that needed to be asked. She couldn’t censor herself to spare his feelings. “I would hope not,” he finally answered. “I would hope he wouldn’t do anything so stupid.” “Stupid?” She thought a lot of things about suicide, and what a mistake it was for anyone to take his or her own life, but rarely did she think it was stupid. “That’s not what I meant,” Jeremy corrected himself. “I would just hope that he would ask for help before he made the choice to end things.” “You said he was tight-lipped.” “He is...but...” Jeremy’s mouth puckered and his eye turned storm. “Look, he’s probably fine. Let’s not go there, okay?” He’d shut her down. Not that she could blame him. Maybe he was right. Maybe an accident had caused the cave-in, and Robert was sitting in the mine, hoping someone would find him. “I’m sorry, Jeremy.” He seemed to force a smile, the lines of his lips curled in harsh juxtaposition to the rest of his face. “No...you’re fine. If I was in your position, I’d be asking the same thing.” She nodded, not sure of what exactly to say that would make things less tense between them, but there was no fixing what riddled the air. A fireman walked up the hill after them, stopping before he reached the porch. His cheeks were spattered with dirt and sweat. “We’ve broken through. Looks like the mine shaft is intact.” “Great. That’s great,” Jeremy said. “Was there anything that could give us a clue as to why the mine entrance collapsed? Any evidence of explosives?” The fireman shrugged, his sweaty shirt hugging his chest as he moved. “The excavator did the trick in getting us in, but it tore the hell out of everything. It’s hard to say what you and your investigators will find.” Firefighters were like Wreck-It Ralph, always tearing and bulldozing away anything that stood in their way, but this was one of those times that Blake was happy to have their help. They followed them down the hill, night trailing them. Ahead the fire crews had set up industrial-strength lights that burned away the darkness. All except for the oblong entrance of the mine, where the light disappeared like it was being sucked into a black hole. “We haven’t sent anyone in. We were waiting for you,” the fireman said, stopping at the mouth of the cave. “Robert!” Jeremy called, his voice echoing in the mine and cascading deep into the darkness. There was no answer. Instead they were met with the excavator’s treads rattling and clanging as a man drove it up the embankment and toward the waiting tractor trailer. Jeremy moved forward, but Blake grabbed hold of his biceps, stopping him. “Wait.” “My brother’s in there.” “I hear you, but we need to be careful.” Jeremy gazed into the mine. Blake took out her notepad and turned to the firefighter who’d headed the excavation. “How deep was the cave-in?” “It varied, but mostly everything was about ten to fifteen feet.” She made a note and, after sliding the camera from her pocket, took a picture of the scene. “But you didn’t find evidence of an explosion?” The fireman shook his head. “No, but look,” he said, running his hand down a structural support beam they must have put into place to keep from having the mine fall back in on itself. “We found support beams like these every three feet. You’d have to check on the code, but with these four-by-fours like that, it seems like more than enough structural support to sustain the weight above. There’s been no earthquakes, at least that I know of, and no major rainstorms or weather that would have caused the ground to give way. I’d bet my bottom dollar that someone did this on purpose. If it was imploded, it was with a low-grade explosive. Nothing big enough to cause major damage, just enough firepower to get the job done.” Blake nodded, taking note of his opinion. It wouldn’t be admissible in court, but at least she had an idea of what could have happened and she could write it up when she filed her report. “Is it stable deeper in?” she asked. The firefighter shrugged. “It’s hard to say what you’ll find. Oftentimes, explosions can have a bit of a cascading effect. If you go in, you need to make sure you take your time and be safe. You want me or one of my team to go in with you?” “I’ve got it,” Jeremy said. “I’ll go in. There’s no sense in you all going in and putting yourself in danger.” He turned to look at her. “I don’t want anyone to get hurt.” A faint heat rose in her cheeks, but she tried to staunch the fire. “Jeremy, you may be a detective, but this isn’t your jurisdiction. You can’t go in. It’s my job.” “But this is my family.” If she were in his shoes, she wouldn’t have taken no for an answer, either. She had to follow the rules, but it didn’t feel right leaving him out. “Since you’re the only person who’s been in the mine, you can go in as a search volunteer. Nothing more. Don’t touch anything. Got it?” He nodded. “Here,” the fireman said, handing them each hard hats complete with headlamps. “You’re going to need these.” They took them, and Jeremy put his on. In the night’s shadows, he looked like a miner from an old tintype photograph, dirt smudging his cheeks and his eyelashes covered in dust. “Let’s go,” Blake said, starting down the shaft. The place smelled of dank, wet dirt and iron-rich minerals, the scent of deep earth—full and heady. The tunnel was wide enough for two to walk side by side with their shoulders rubbing against the walls. A tendril of claustrophobia wrapped around her, but she ignored the way it tightened around her chest and threatened to squeeze until panic oozed from every pore. No. I’m strong. I can handle this. She repeated the mantra over and over as she moved deeper, but it did little to quell her anxiety. She walked, Jeremy close beside her, until the tunnel branched in a Y shape. She suddenly wished they had found a map, anything to help them avoid getting lost in the maze. Jeremy took a large breath of air, like he was going to yell, but Blake shushed him. “Don’t yell. If anything is unstable...” We could be killed. She resisted the urge to voice her fears. “Just don’t.” He looked around them, like he could almost read her mind, and nodded. A bead of earth slipped loose from the wall and cascaded down the side like an earthen waterfall. “Right or left?” she asked, motioning toward the break in their path. “Left. Robert never did anything right in his entire life.” He gave a dry laugh. She went left. The walls seemed to move in closer and the dark seemed even more ominous as they made their way deeper into the mountain. Each few hundred feet, the tunnel grew narrower, until she had to turn sideways to squeeze through. Her heart thrashed in her chest as her claustrophobia intensified. She hated small spaces. What if she got stuck? What if the earth shifted around them and they were trapped? What would happen to Megan? What would happen to her mother? The tunnel narrowed even more. Her chest brushed against the rock. And, as she exhaled, the warm air bounced off the rock in front of her and she could feel it on her cheek. It was too close. The walls were too close. Jeremy was too close. She couldn’t do this. Something ran over her shoe. She jumped with a squeal, slamming her hard hat into the top of the cave. “I can’t, Jeremy.” She tried to control her breathing, but now it was coming in rapid, panicked heaves. He took her hand, running his thumb over her skin. “Okay. It’s okay,” he soothed. His heartbeat was so strong that she could feel it through his grip. Did he hate this as much as she did? Jeremy led her back down the tunnel from where they’d come, until he reached a spot wide enough for them both to stand. “Let me take the lead.” She nodded, but his voice sounded like it was coming through a can. The world spun around her slightly, forcing her to lean back against the wall and close her eyes. “Just a minute,” she whispered. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine,” she lied as her head started to throb and a faint wave of light-headedness washed over her. She pulled her hand from his, afraid that it wasn’t just the claustrophobia or the bump to the head that was making her feel adrift. She braced herself against the walls of the cave. The earth was cool and damp under her touch, and the dirt had given way to hard rock. The jagged edges scraped her hands, but the pain made her come back to herself. Lifting her hand, she wiped a speckle of blood from her palm. Jeremy took her face in his hands. “You’re fine. Everything will be okay. You’re safe with me.” In their little cocoon of warm yellow light, and wrapped in his hands, she believed him. She looked up into his face. She focused on the green depths of his eyes, blocking out everything else around her. After a while her breathing slowed as he caressed her face, moving a stray hair back from her neck. “We won’t have to be in here much longer,” he whispered. “He has to be close.” Jeremy’s warm fingertips brushed the skin right under her bottom lip, his touch making the cold rock beneath her feel that much cooler. Leaning in, he stole her lips, kissing her with a tenderness far deeper than the mine. Everything around her disappeared. There was only him. His mouth on hers. The luscious texture of his tongue as it brushed over the curve of her lip, lightly caressing hers. He flicked his tongue, making her thighs tense, warmth rise from her core and her thoughts rush to the other places his mouth could explore. His hands roamed down her neck, over her curves and down her hips. He pulled her against him, pressing her against his responding body. She didn’t know what it was. The fever with which he touched her, her long drought from masculine contact. Whatever it was, she kissed him back with a ravenous hunger. It felt— From somewhere deep behind them, near the entrance of the cave, came the sound of a crackling radio. The high-pitch static cut through the air and brought Blake back to reality. Jeremy jerked with the sound. “I... I...shouldn’t have done that,” he stammered, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “I just meant to make you feel better. I’m sorry.” “You’re right. You shouldn’t have.” She stepped away from him and out of the light in an attempt to cover the hurt that must have shown on her face. He wasn’t the only one who had made a mistake. She shouldn’t have let him kiss her. Now everything was going to get confusing. “Let’s go back. I think this way is blocked—it’s getting too narrow.” Entirely too narrow, as far as she was concerned. She couldn’t be this close to him. He started to say something but stopped. “Okay.” She led the way back, and, as they neared the Y, a warm breeze blew in from the entrance, making her aware of how cold it was in the cave. Between their moving and the kiss, she hadn’t noticed the icy chill. If Robert was hurt somewhere in there, was it possible that he could have become hypothermic? If he couldn’t move, in the damp cold of the mountain’s underbelly it wouldn’t have taken long. She walked a little faster down the right branch of the tunnel, moving ahead of Jeremy just enough that she was outside the range of his light. Her foot struck something, and it sent her tumbling. Her shoulder connected with the floor, mud kicking up into her face and splattering over her light, dimming its brilliance as her helmet rolled away. “Dang it.” Her wrist throbbed where she’d tried to catch herself as she fell. She sat up and tried to wipe the dirt off her face, but the slick mud only smeared over her skin. She should have been more careful. She should have paid more attention, but all she could think about was Jeremy...his lips...the way his body felt as it pressed against hers. Blake grabbed her hard hat and wiped the dirt from its lamp. As the light brightened, it caught on something metal, sending a reflection against the far wall of the cave. She turned to find the object. There, at her feet, were the legs of a man. The body was slumped forward and slightly to the side, propped against a rock. All of his clothes were in place, and if his skin wasn’t gray and mottled, it was almost as if he could have simply fallen asleep. His feet were crossed loosely at the ankles, indicating that at the time of death he had been standing—she’d once heard it was because the left side of the brain shut down first and it caused the person’s legs to cross as they fell, but whether it was that or simply inertia, she couldn’t be sure. Yet, only those who were standing at the time of death fell as Robert had. “Jeremy, stop,” she called down the tunnel, but it was too late. Jeremy stepped into the light. “Oh, my God,” he whispered, looking down at the body. He moved his light, shining it on the man’s face. His skin was pale, mottled to the point of gray—the color of death. His eyes were open, but they were opaque and unseeing. “Robert...” Jeremy illuminated the side of his brother’s head. There was a streak of dried, congealed blood down the side of his face and neck. His jacket was stained red and brown, and a pool of blood had settled and dried in his lap. A gun was on the ground by his left hand. Next to the gun was a single spent casing. One shot, one kill. Jeremy dropped down to his knees as he stared at the man. “Jeremy, you should go,” she said. “I can take it from here.” “My brother...” Jeremy started, stunned. “This is my brother.” “I know. And he’s always going to be your brother, but right now this is a crime scene.” Chapter Five (#ulink_1fcc3cfd-142c-5e8b-a5e3-6d649044f36e) Jeremy wouldn’t let her leave him outside the mine; instead he watched as she and her team documented the crime scene, taking measurements, pictures of the body and close-ups of Robert’s face and the wound at his temple. They were doing their jobs, but it made his stomach churn every time he looked up and saw his brother’s face. Robert had had his fair share of issues, but Jeremy had never expected them to land them here—his brother dead and him watching as Robert’s body was poked and prodded. Blake looked to him as one of the investigators took a close-up of the bullet wound. “You okay? Are you sure you want to stay down here? It’s been a long day.” “I’m fine.” She frowned, like she didn’t believe him, but she didn’t say anything. She turned to the other officer and handed him her camera. “Did they get a video?” Blake asked. “Yep,” the investigator answered. “Great. Make sure to get some more pictures. Especially of the spatter.” The officer nodded, taking the camera. The strobing flash made Jeremy flinch, as if each picture was the crack of a bullet that had come too close. He had to pull his crap together. For the next hour or so, he couldn’t see the body as his brother if he wanted to get through this. This couldn’t be Robert—it had to be just another face, or he’d never be able to be right again. And for dang sure, he didn’t need Blake worrying about him. She needed to focus on her investigation. He took a deep breath. Blake took a swab of the body’s hands. She tried to move his arm, but he was at full rigor. Leaning down, she sniffed his hands and then wrapped them in paper bags. “You smell anything?” he asked, glancing down to the place where the handgun rested. “Hard to say,” she said with a slight shrug. “His hands smell heavily of dirt. That can cover the scent of powder.” He nodded. “You want to take a sniff?” she asked, motioning to the bagged hands. If this was his scene, he would have done it, but he still couldn’t let go of the fact it was Robert. No matter how badly he wanted to, he couldn’t feel his brother’s cold, lifeless flesh. “I’m good, but make sure you’re getting everything.” He pointed at Robert’s underarms. “Did you get a picture of his coat? How it’s bunched up where someone would have put their hands if they were dragging him.” Blake frowned like she didn’t agree, but she motioned to the officer taking pictures. “Make sure we get a picture of that.” The man nodded, his camera flashing. “After the coroner’s done, I want you to bag that gun and send it off to the crime lab. I want prints pulled and a ballistics test. Got it?” “No problem,” the officer said between pictures. She turned to Jeremy. “You know I’m sorry about your brother and everything that’s going on in your life right now, but that doesn’t mean you can come in and tell me how to run a crime scene.” That’s not what he had implied, but apparently he had hit a sore spot. “Right.” She pulled off her blue gloves with a snap and turned to the other investigator. “You done?” The officer nodded, handing her camera to her. “I think we’ve got everything you’ll need.” He started down the tunnel, leaving Blake standing alone with Jeremy. She stood up and brushed off her knees. “Don’t worry, Jeremy. Even though it’s just little ol’ me in charge, we can figure out what happened.” * * * OUTSIDE THE TUNNEL, Blake set the camera on the table at the makeshift command post and she tried to control her breathing. The vic may have been Jeremy’s family, but that didn’t mean that he could come in and try to tell her how to do her job. She never should have let him trail along. She should have trusted her gut and kept her distance. The industrial lights made the night as bright as midday. Jeremy sat outside the mine’s entrance as a few other officers milled through the grass and brush looking for any other evidence. The coroner walked down the trail from Robert’s driveway, and she gave him an acknowledging wave. She flipped through her camera, looking at the different photos of Robert’s body, the gun and the walls in and around the scene. The last picture was of the blood spatters on the wall behind the body. The spray had moved far in the chasm, but the heaviest was just to the right of where Robert had slumped. She made a note in her investigation report as the coroner stopped beside her. “Have a dead one, eh? Lucky for you, the state’s hotel is always open,” he said, trying to make a joke. She didn’t find it funny. Blake nodded in Jeremy’s direction. “That’s the vic’s brother, so be careful what you say.” The older man’s flabby, jovial face turned placid. Most coroners were former police officers and more of the quiet type, but this one had come out of Wyoming and seemed to live for his job. “Got it. So what do you think? Suicide?” He looked over her shoulder at the camera. “Oh, that’s some nice spatter.” She put the camera down and out of sight of the death-happy coroner. “Right now I’m unsure. It’s presenting like a suicide, no drag marks.” “Hmm...” The coroner made a note. “Anything else?” “The vic had a bullet wound to the left side of his head.” “Was the vic left-handed?” She hadn’t thought to ask Jeremy. “I don’t know.” The coroner nodded. “Well, I’ll see what I can make of it.” “Sounds great, thanks. My investigator will take you to the body.” She pointed to the other officer, who motioned for the coroner to follow him. The coroner talked constantly as he and the other man made their way into the mine. She opened her computer and pulled up her investigation report. Based on the rate of algor mortis, rigor mortis and livor mortis, the man had been dead approximately twelve hours. She looked at her watch. That put time of death at a little before noon, but the family hadn’t been able to contact him for several days. Was it possible that Robert had been trapped in the mine and, instead of waiting to asphyxiate, had chosen to take his own life? Or had there been others involved? Had someone collapsed the entrance of the mine in hopes of covering up a murder? Robert was a recluse. If someone had wanted to murder him, hiding him in the mine was a hell of a way to take care of his body. If things had gone another way and his family hadn’t reported him missing, he may never have been found. She looked over at Jeremy. His head was in his hands and his shoulders were slumped; he looked broken. Guilt flooded her. She should have been more patient with him and his interference in her investigation—he’d only been trying to help. She walked over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” He nodded but didn’t look up. “We’re going to get to the bottom of this. Don’t worry.” “I just don’t understand it. Robert had problems, but...I never thought...” She sat down next to him, their legs brushing. Though they barely touched, she hoped that her nearness brought him a small measure of comfort. “You and I both know that no one ever thinks this is going to happen. The only thing we can do for Robert now is to piece together how he ended up where he is.” Jeremy shifted slightly, like he was recoiling from the words...words he had no doubt said himself many times over. “Do you know—was Robert left-handed?” Jeremy nodded. “He could have done this to himself. But you know Robert...knew Robert,” he said, correcting himself. “He wasn’t the kind who’d do this. He was too angry. Too cynical. He lived to prove the world wrong.” They sat in silence as she watched the firemen pack up their gear and head out. Once in a while Jeremy would move like he was going to stand up, but he would quickly stop and sit back down. Finally the coroner appeared at the mine’s entrance and, spotting her, made his way over. “What did you find?” she asked as they both stood up to greet him. The coroner looked back as two men carried a black bag containing Robert’s body out of the mine and toward the coroner’s van. “You were right about the jacket, but I don’t think he was moved. The lividity didn’t point in that direction.” “You think it was a suicide?” Jeremy asked. The coroner shook his head. “The stippling around the bullet’s entrance wound was a little wider than what I normally see in cases of suicide, but it doesn’t rule it out.” Blake moved to speak but Jeremy interrupted. “What about the spatter?” “It’s consistent with the body’s presentation, but again, I think the gun was a little farther back at the time it was fired.” “So it’s possible that he was murdered?” Jeremy asked, his voice filled with anger. “Right now we know the cause of death is the gunshot wound, but until we get the medical examiner’s findings, I’m ruling the manner of death as undetermined.” * * * THERE WAS NOTHING worse than notifying the next of kin...especially when it was your own family. Jeremy had put it off as long as he could, waiting until the next afternoon, but his parents needed to find out before they heard the news from someone else in the small town. He took a deep breath as he entered the pizza joint. It was full of families, and the roar of Skee-Ball from the game room in the back filled the air. His family had been coming to this place since he was a kid. Everything from the red-and-white-checkered tablecloths to the hanging stained glass lights was the same. It even smelled the same—yeasty with a hint of garlic and overcooked dough. The place was nostalgic in all the wrong ways. His parents were sitting at their regular booth, and he made his way over. “Hiya, Jeremy,” his mom said in an overly chipper voice. He nodded and sat down next to her. “Did you talk to Robert?” his father asked. Maybe it had been an error to meet them in a public place to tell them about Robert’s death, but at least this way they couldn’t start fighting. He picked up the napkin in front of him and started rolling the paper into little balls. “I saw him.” “Did you tell him that he needs to call his mother?” she asked, taking a dainty sip of her pop. “Actually, I couldn’t tell him anything.” He laid the napkin to rest on the table. “Mom, Dad, I have some bad news.” “Is Robert in trouble again?” his father started. “I tell you, I’m going to have to sell our house to pay for his bail this time. He’s got me about tapped out.” “He’s not in jail.” Jeremy ran his hands over his face and looked up, across the table at his father. “Robert’s dead.” His father’s mouth hung open, and his mother turned to stone next to him. He instantly wished he had taken Blake’s offer of coming along to tell his family. Maybe she could have softened the blow. Maybe the news would have been better coming from a woman. Yet, after their kiss, it felt like the only thing she wanted to do was get away from him. No, there was only him to impart the news of his brother’s death. “We found Robert’s body. It’s on its way to the Missoula Crime Lab for an autopsy. Right now the cause of death is unclear, but we should know soon.” “You don’t know how he died?” his mother asked in a stunned whisper. He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “He died instantly from a gunshot wound. Other than that, there’s not much I can say.” He envisioned Robert’s body slumped over. The gunshot to his head. The blood trickling down his neck, staining his shirt. He tried to blink the images away but failed. His mother looked across the table at his father. “I told you that you should have gone out there sooner, Glen,” she spat. “If you would have just listened.” “Veronica, this is hardly the first time Robert hadn’t called us back. If I ran out there every time you wanted to, we’d practically live with him.” Конец ознакомительного фрагмента. Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес». 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