A Dark Lure (15 page)

. . .
I bet you’ll be just like him when you’re old, too
. . .

From the mouths of babes.
Likeness lies in wait
, he thought as he set the frame down and walked over to the window.

From the window he watched the guest who was in the living room earlier crossing the lawn. The man tried to put his arm around his daughter. She shrugged him off. They climbed into their truck and disappeared around the trees.

His mind turned to Ty, a memory of walking with his arm around his stepson’s shoulders. Ty would be just a little younger than that girl now. A sharp pain shot through his temple. Cole pressed his hands down flat onto the windowsill, drawing in a deep breath. What he’d give to have a second chance, to walk down to that very lake with Ty, fishing rods in hand.

He wanted to tell that man and his daughter that nothing lasted forever, that they must use each moment, each day, as a rare gift. That they must never allow the cloak of hubris and self-indulgence to stop them from appreciating, nurturing, protecting those closest to them.

Out from under the eaves below came Olivia with Ace at her heels. She lugged a roll of wire toward her truck, a tool pouch around her hips. Her chestnut hair shone in the sunlight as it lifted with the wind. Gold leaves chased over the lawn in her wake. She hefted the coil of wire into the back of her truck. He cursed softly. She was going to fix that fence. He checked his watch, wondering if he had time to get down there and help her before his father showed up.

But as he looked at his watch, the library door swung open. His father rolled his chair in.

Cole was gut-punched by the sight of his dad crumpled into that chair, the gray pallor and strain in his sunken face. But his eyes were sharp and hot under their thatch of brow.

“I made a decision,” he said brusquely, pushing himself over to the fire, and wheeling around to face him. “Olivia needs to hear this, too. Go fetch her.”

Cole bristled but held his cool. “She’s gone about her business.”

“We have two-way radios. In the office. She carries one in her truck. We use channel four. Tell her I need to see her. Now.”

“You doing okay?”

“How the fuck does it look like I’m doing? Just go get Olivia.”

“What’s eating you, Tori?” Gage said as he parked their rig outside the little log cabin. The sign over the porch said “The Buckeye.”

“I don’t like her.”

“Olivia? Why not?”

“Why do
you
like her?” she snapped, eyes flashing. “I could see that you did. What about Mom?”

She threw open the door, jumped down, and marched across the lawn, her shoulders and brow thrust forward like a stubborn little fish battling upstream. She clumped up the wooden stairs and onto the small wraparound porch. She’d gained weight over the past months, and her skin was bad.

Despair wrapped around Gage.

There was no manual for this. No checklist he could follow that would help his daughter with her sudden weight gain, her spotty complexion. Her anger. Her guilt. He’d tried taking her to a therapist, but Tori called the guy an idiot and refused to go back.

God, he needed a therapist himself—he missed Melody more than he had words for.

He got out of the truck and walked slowly out onto the grass rise in front of the cabin. He looked out over the aquamarine lake toward the snow-dusted mountains in the distance. The air out here was so cool and clean you could drink it.

Was
he
out there somewhere?

Wind whispered suddenly through the lodgepole pines, yellow leaves skittering across the grass. A chill tickled over his skin. With it came a thread of fear. Could he control this? Could he keep them all safe?

Or had he set something utterly reckless in motion? Fear deepened. A different kind of fear—a question about the soundness of his own mind, his own grasp on reality.

No. You’re fine. You’re doing the right thing. For Tori.

For Sarah.

His mind turned again to Sarah—Olivia. Gage had been worried she might recognize him, but his fears appeared groundless. He hadn’t been directly involved with her case. The big honchos had come up from Surrey, formed a federal task force, and taken it over. But Watt Lake had been his detachment. He’d been the boss there, and he’d been privy to investigation details. He’d watched the Sebastian George interrogations, and he’d looked in on most of the interviews with Sarah.

His appearance had also been very different back then. He’d been lean, bordering on thin, with a trademark handlebar moustache and a full head of neatly trimmed dark hair.

Time wrought big changes on some people, very little on others.

He took out his cell and found a hillock in front of the cabin where he managed to pick up a few bars of reception.

He dialed Mac Yakima’s number. He wanted to know if they’d learned anything more about the Birkenhead homicide. His call flipped straight to voice mail. He pocketed his phone and went into the cabin. The interior was cozy. Clean. Rustic. Tori was behind a closed door in one of the bedrooms. He built a fire in the cast-iron stove, and once it was crackling, he knocked on her door.

“Tori?”

She made a muffled sound.

“I’m going to take a walk, okay? Take a recon of the area.”

No response.

“Don’t go anywhere until I get back. If you need something to eat, it’s in the camper.”

Silence.

Cole found the two-way radio in a charger on the office counter. Beside it was a copy of today’s
Province
. The front-page headline was about the Birkenhead murder. Above it, in bold block letters, was written Olivia West’s name and the ranch address.

Cole scanned the story. In the middle of the text was a teaser for a related op-ed piece on page six. Cole turned to page six. Nestled there, between the pages, was a plastic ziplock baggie containing a lurid, lime-green fishing lure with three red eyes.

Frowning, he picked up the bag and studied the lure. It wasn’t a trout fly—too big. More likely for winter steelhead or big fighting salmon.

He keyed the radio. “Olivia, this is Cole for Olivia.” He released the key, waited as he continued to examine the fly. It was an unusual design.

Static crackled.

He keyed the radio again. “Olivia? You out there?”

“What is it?” Her voice came through, irritable.

“My father has demanded to see you.”

“What?”

“Myron. He wants to see you.”

“Now?”

“Yes, now. Before he has a heart attack. Wants both of us in the library to announce something.”
Summoned like bloody schoolkids.

She muttered a curse then said, “Tell him I’ll be there in ten.”

He stuck the packet with the fly back into page six and gathered up the newspaper addressed to her. He’d give it to her upstairs.

Olivia tossed the radio onto the truck seat and stared at the hole in the fencing, a roll of wire in her gloved hand. She was reluctant to be here alone, but she was also determined to do it alone, to stand up to her fear. To draw a line with Cole. He ate up way too much of her space.

And now he wanted her back at the lodge. Jump. Just like that. The McDonough men had summoned.

Her face heated. In the few hours that Cole had been on Broken Bar Ranch he’d learned things about her no one else knew, or had seen. The memory of his touch at the small of her back washed through her, and she clenched her jaw, hating the fact she’d welcomed it. Needed it. Taken comfort in having someone at her back.

She hated that she found him physically attractive. She told herself she could deal with that. It was the compassion, the pity, the kindness she couldn’t handle. It made her feel like Sarah Baker again. An outcast. A rape victim. A curiosity.

She whirled around and dumped the wire back into the truck bed and marched round to the driver’s side. But she stopped short as she noticed fresh boot prints in the black mud atop the tire tracks. They hadn’t been here when she’d come through with Cole.

A cool whisper threaded through her. They were the same size as the prints that had followed her own track yesterday. Her gaze shot to the hole in the fence. Both the prints and the tire tracks led into deep forest. Again she was touched by a sense of being watched. She swallowed.

Then cursed. Opening her door, she scooted Ace over, climbed in, removed her gloves, and rubbed her hands hard over her face. Once she’d felt so safe here. She’d begun to believe she could actually be normal.

How could her world have changed so fast?

Olivia pushed open the library door, her tool belt still slung at her hips—she wasn’t planning on staying long. She’d hear Myron out, then return to fix that fence. She was determined to do it. The bruise on her temple throbbed under the butterfly bandage she’d applied.

Myron hunkered in his chair by the fire. Cole looked uncomfortable in the wingback opposite him. Father and son. Past and present. The imagery was suddenly stark and caught her by surprise.

“What’s so urgent?” she said to Myron.

“You shouldn’t have done it. I told you not to call him.” Myron jerked his head toward his son.

Cole’s jaw stiffened. Even seated, his posture was combative, yet controlled.

“Look, it’s done, Myron,” she said coolly. “And I’m sorry—it was a mistake. But I know what it’s like not having closure, not being able to say good-bye. And I thought . . .” Emotion snared her out of left field. She cleared her throat. “I’m done meddling. You two sort yourselves out. The ranch still needs running.” She turned to leave.

“Wait. I summoned you here because you
both
need to hear this. I’m leaving the ranch to Olivia in trust.”

She froze, turned back slowly. “Excuse me?”

Myron turned his attention to Cole. “And since you’ve taken the trouble to finally come home now that I’m kicking the bucket, you can be the one to phone Jane and make damn sure she knows this as well.”

Myron wheeled yet closer to his son, his eyes boring into him, his hands clenched tight on his chair wheels. “I called Norton Pickett, my estate lawyer, about an hour ago. I’ve asked him to draw up a new will, and to bring me copies to sign as soon as he’s done. Broken Bar Ranch goes in trust to Olivia. For as long as she wants to live here—until she leaves the ranch, or she dies—it’s hers. Everything. She does what she wants to the place. You, or Jane, or Clayton Forbes and his vultures, can’t touch a thing. And I know Forbes is after this place. I know you and Jane both want to sell to him.”