BIG SKY SECRETS 01: Final Exposure (15 page)

Ashley snorted. “I must hold the record for having the shortest relationships on the planet. He was here for an hour and he really was sweet. I was sure he was interested and he said he would call. But he never did.”

“If you saw a picture of him, would you recognize him?”

“Are you kidding? He was the kind of guy you dream of, with those dark good looks of his. And his smile…” Ashley sighed.

“Is your fax machine working yet?”

Ashley gave a startled laugh. “No, I still need to take it back to the store for service. Why?”

“I need to send you a newspaper article, see if you recognize the picture of the investigator. I’m wondering if it’s the same guy.”

Ashley fell silent for a moment. “Bob is a cop, so I imagine he would be involved in all sorts of cases. That wouldn’t be unusual.”

“You know the little business office in the condo complex for the residents’ use? It should be open until midnight, so I’m sending a fax to that number. I need you to take a look and let me know if you think it’s the same guy. It’s important. Just call me back at the number for Millie’s as soon as you can, and I’ll wait up for you. My cell battery is nearly dead and it isn’t taking a charge very well.”

Erin walked across the store to the fax machine behind the cash register, tapped the photocopies of the articles into a neat stack and settled them into the machine. Studying the condo-association business card she’d found in her wallet, she dialed the fax number.

The pages slowly fed through the machine, then Erin started to pace the floor. The second hand dragged slowly, slowly, slowly around the wall clock above the cash register.

A little after midnight, the phone jangled. Erin picked it up before the second ring. “Do you have them yet?”

“Sorry it took so long. The door was locked and I had to call Maintenance.” Ashley took a shaky breath. “I…I just don’t understand. It’s Bob, all right, though they made a mistake. That’s not his name under the photo. But then, newspapers do that all the time. They’re always putting in little apologies on the inside of the front page, saying they’ve gotten names or addresses wrong—”

“Ashley.”
Erin sank into one of the café chairs and rested her forehead on her open palm. “I don’t think it’s a mistake. I’m guessing there was never a random vandal breaking into your car. And I’m also guessing the damage was a ruse to get into your condo so he could track me down.”

“But he seemed so nice!” Ashley’s voice was
breathless, weak. “And why wouldn’t he just ask for your address?”

“Maybe so you wouldn’t get suspicious and then tell me about it. Or maybe he knew that no smart woman would give out another woman’s address.”

“B-but he didn’t say
anything
about you. And why would he need to find you so badly?”

“You left right after Linda’s wedding ceremony, but I stayed later and took a lot of shots throughout the park. I inadvertently captured a guy in the woods. I don’t think he was out there having a picnic.”

“These articles you sent. They’re about some murder victim named Ronald Peterson.” Ashley fell silent for a moment and then added, “It says that he’s suspected of having a connection to a drug ring, and that he might’ve used his businesses as a cover.” She drew in a deep breath. “And you think my Bob—or Patrick or whoever he is—was involved?”

“I don’t know why or how. I only know that I used a long, telephoto lens in the park, so my pictures weren’t entirely clear. The fax is a little grainy, as well. But if I had to guess, I’d say Patrick Doyle and Bob are the same guy—and that I caught him on film at the worst possible moment near the murder scene. You should see the look of rage on his face when he realized I was there with a camera.”

“Look closer at your photos.” Ashley’s voice rose, tinged with panic. “Maybe you’re wrong.”

“I sent my memory card away to have prints made, so I don’t have the pictures handy right now. But I think your ‘friend’ gave you a false name. And I think he did it so he could track me down. Earlier you said you had to look for your car registration, so that left him alone in the kitchen. Maybe he saw my forwarding address taped to your refrigerator, or looked at the address book you keep by the phone. Maybe he even casually asked about your roommates, and you mentioned the town I was moving to. There’s been trouble up here, Ash.”

“Oh, no. Erin, I’m so sorry. I didn’t have any idea!”

“I don’t know for sure if it’s him, but—”

The phone went dead.

Startled, Erin pulled the receiver away from her ear and stared at it, then slowly cradled it.

From somewhere in the back of the store came the sound of a single, deliberate footstep.

And then the lights went out.

Jack palmed his cell phone and thought about calling Erin, then glanced out his living-room window. The lights were off in the store, so she’d probably gone back to the cottage. His call could wait.

He stared pensively out the window, wondering what she would say when he told her the whole truth.

She’d once asked why he happened to choose Lost
Falls, and he’d said that he’d looked on the Internet for places to stay in the Montana Rockies. True.

But he’d also headed in this direction because of a scrap of paper he’d found on the floor next to a wastebasket, when he and a police officer had first entered Ted’s apartment.

“Lost Falls” had been scrawled on it, then scratched out.

He’d called it to the attention of the deputy and then to the investigators who took on the case later, but apparently no one had followed up. Or if they had, they’d only checked on Ted’s real name with the Montana authorities.

But when Jack did a city-and-zip-code check and found that the only town of Lost Falls in the entire country was in Montana, it was a lead he couldn’t ignore.

Now, he paced the living-room floor, then stopped at his desk to pull out a state map.

Unfurling it, he spread it wide and studied the towns circled in red ink. Six towns he’d visited in the past few days. He’d taken posters that he’d made with his computer and printer, and had shown it to some of the locals in each town.

He’d come up dry in the first five.

But today he’d finally hit pay dirt at the Copper Cliff post office and at a little string of cabins tucked in the woods.

Apparently there’d been a man in town who closely resembled Ted, though he’d worn a hat tipped low over his face and had the start of a beard.

The postmistress had sworn she never forgot a face and said he looked familiar—he was the only person she’d ever dealt with who wanted to buy a single stamp with a hundred-dollar bill.

The elderly gentleman at the cabins had been hesitant, but his wife had taken one look and nodded, her mouth flattening to a grim line. “That’s him. He was here and he paid in cash, but he won’t be back. Not over my dead body.”

Her husband had pursed his lips and frowned at her, but she’d continued, anyway, “He didn’t like the pillows and he didn’t like the towels. Nothing was good enough. Hardly left the cabin, stayed in there to eat, because he left food wrappers everywhere. What kind of vacation is that, after coming all the way up here?”

Knowing that the local banks wouldn’t release information to him, this afternoon Jack had contacted the police department back home with the name Ted had likely used while he was up here and the names of the towns nearby. Had Ted divvied up the stolen money to put into a number of rural banks, using false identities?

“It won’t be long, Ted,” he muttered under his breath as he paced the living room, knowing sleep
wouldn’t come easily tonight. “And the day your schemes are unraveled will be a day I’ll remember for the rest of my life.”

Erin took a step backward, feeling for the edge of the table. Her heart battering against her ribs, she held her breath and waited for her eyes to adjust to the dark, monochrome shadows in the store.

The moon was only a sliver tonight, and its faint wash of light barely picked out the silhouettes of the display cases and the soda fountain.

Again she heard a subtle movement.

Clutching her keys in one hand, she judged the distance to the front door. It wasn’t locked yet. If she got there in time, she could jerk it open and run.

But anyone at the back of the store would have about the same distance to run as she did—if he was after her and not just wanting to empty the cash register.

The thought made her stomach pitch.
Lord, help me—tell me what to do.

“I know you’re here,” a voice crooned through the darkness. “I watched you through the window for a long time. Did you know that? Did you
feel
it? You’re so beautiful, with all that silky blond hair. I’ve watched you—a lot.”

She inched toward the front door, crouching low. Could he hear her crazy heartbeat? Could he see her
shadowed form in the darkness?
Please, God, help me get out of here. Please, God…

“You have something I need,” he continued in that same, eerie, singsong voice. “If you cooperate I’ll leave, and you’ll never see me again. That’s easy, isn’t it?”

The door was ten feet away.

Nine.

Eight.

She could almost feel the coolness of the old-fashioned knob beneath her palm.

Seven.

The muscles in her thighs burned as she crept forward, still crouching low. She held her breath, trying not to make a sound.

It was there—just within reach.
Please, God. Please, God. Please—

A callused hand clamped her wrist and in one, fierce motion, twisted it high behind her back until agonizing pain rocketed through her shoulder and her knees collapsed.

She screamed.

And then everything went black.

Jack tucked the covers up around Max’s shoulders and stepped out of the room.

In minutes the child was out of bed again, his eyes spilling tears.

At Isabelle’s he’d reportedly been tired and
cranky, with flushed cheeks and watery eyes, and things had gone downhill from there.

Rather than stopping at Millie’s to tell Erin the news about his trip to Copper Cliff, Jack had taken Max home and tried putting him to bed as Isabelle had suggested.

“Probably just a flu bug,” she’d said. “All the kids have been getting it, but it only lasts a day or so. If you need any help, just give me a call, and I’ll come over,” she’d added with a knowing smile. “Moms are used to this sort of thing. But for a first-timer, it can be tough dealing with a sick child.”

She’d been offhand about the flu, but Max had steadily become more whiny, refused everything Jack offered for supper, then fought his bath time and the books that usually followed. By midnight he’d thrown up twice, and for the last half hour he’d been on the couch looking miserable and listless.

“I want my doggie,” he whined, tears welling up in his eyes and his lower lip trembling. “I need my doggie.”

At least this time, it was something Jack could provide, unlike a tearful, heartbreaking request for his mommy. “I’ll look, okay?”

But the stuffed animal wasn’t in the main-floor bedrooms, the office or hidden in a corner of the living room. A search of the car proved fruitless, as well. “Do you have any idea where it could be?”

The boy burst into tears.

“You didn’t take it to Isabelle’s, did you?” They’d set a strict rule about that after Max had left it behind on his first day at the woman’s house.

Max shook his head, his little body racked with sobs.

Jack sat next to him on the couch and rested the back of his hand against the boy’s forehead.
Cool, thank goodness.
“Do you know where else it could be?”

“I—I took it to see Charlie.”

Jack reached for his cell phone to dial Erin’s number, then remembered the time. “I can’t call her now. She’ll be sleeping.”

“I need my doggie. I can’t sleep without him!”

Doggie, and a chance to sleep.

No doggie, and whining all night.

The options were clear and so was the answer.

Jack stood and went to the window once again. Maybe Erin was at the cottage but still awake. Surely she’d understand the needs of a sick and miserable little boy.

Odd. If he stood at a certain angle, he could catch a glimpse of the cottage. It was dark—even the porch light that she always left on at night. As if she’d never come home.

And suddenly some lights were on again, at the back of the store. Why would she be there at this
hour? And if she’d returned to the store, why weren’t the cottage porch lights on to light her way?

An uneasy sensation spider-crawled up his neck.

“Please, can I go get my doggie?” Max’s plaintive voice cut through Jack’s thoughts. “I’ll get it myself—I don’t mind.”

“I don’t want you going over there, buddy. You’re sick.”

“But—”

“I’ll get it. It’ll just take me a little while.” He flipped out his cell phone and punched in a number.
Sorry, Isabelle, but you did offer. I hope a fifty-dollar tip will be enough.

If someone was here with Max, Jack could fetch the stuffed animal and then talk to Erin for a while. Make sure she was all right. Maybe even ask her the questions he’d been wanting to ask.

But then he lifted his gaze to the store once more, and that uneasy sensation increased ten times over. Those lights in the back were never left on at night. He could see jerky shadows moving against the wall.

Shadows.
Not just one.

Something wasn’t right. He could feel it in his bones.

“Isabelle. I need you over here ASAP to stay with Max for a few minutes. I need to check on Erin. Please hurry.”

And as soon as he ended the call, he dialed 911.

E
rin fought the nausea welling up in her throat. The searing pain in her shoulder had settled into steady throbbing, given the way her hands were tied so tightly behind her back.

But worse than the pain was the fact that she knew the face in front of her all too well. And he didn’t care. He’d made no effort to disguise himself—which meant he planned to kill her, whether she cooperated or not.