Black Hills (30 page)

He’d left her—life and death—and the rest of the game up to fate. And the cat.

She’d shown courage, which he admired, and a cool head. If for no other reason, those traits, and his interest in them, had kept her alive for another day.

Most of the others he’d hunted had been pathetically easy. The first had been an accident really. Just an impulse, just circumstances. But the incident had, in a very real sense, defined him. Given him a purpose he’d never had, and a means to honor his bloodline.

He’d found his life with death.

Now this last phase of the hunt raised the stakes considerably. This added such a
zing.
When the time came, she’d give him some real competition, some real satisfaction. No question about it. Better, certainly, than the couple of countrified deputies tromping around trying to follow his trail.

He could take them out, too. So easily. He’d backtracked, circled around behind, and studied them as he might study some deer strayed from the herd. He could take them both out and be a mile away before anyone knew the difference.

It had tempted him.

He had sighted one, then the other, in the scope of the rifle he carried with him today, and made little popping sounds to mime the shot. He’d killed men before, but he preferred the female.

Females were, in nearly every species, the fiercer hunter.

He had let them live, primarily because two dead deputies would bring others swarming over the hills. That could spoil the main hunt. He didn’t want to lose his primary target or be forced to leave his territory before he was done.

Patience, he reminded himself, and he slipped away as silently as a shadow from the sun.

 

 

 

TELLING HER PARENTS and allaying their fears—or trying to—left Lil exhausted. When she contacted the security company, from her parents’ kitchen in a further attempt to calm those waters, the receptionist put her through, immediately, to the head of the company.

Ten minutes later, she hung up, turned to her parents. “Did you get any of that?”

“Someone’s coming out to work with you on a security system.”

“Not someone,” she corrected her father—“the head guy. He was expecting my call because Coop contacted him a half hour ago and gave him the rundown. He’s getting on a plane today. He’ll be here this afternoon.”

“How soon can they install what you need?” her mother demanded.

“I don’t know. We’ll find out. Meanwhile, there are cops and rangers out looking for this guy. I’m not going to be careless, and I promise, I won’t be alone in the compound again. Not even for ten minutes. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry I didn’t consider he might do something like this. I thought he might try to hurt one of the animals, but I never thought he’d risk letting one out. I need to get back to the compound. The interns and staff need to see me there, need to see me going through the daily routines.”

“Joe, go with her.”

“Mom—”

Jenna’s eyes flashed. It took no more than that to have Lil swallowing her protest. “Lillian, I haven’t told you what to do in a long time. But I’m telling you now. Your father’s going with you, and he’s staying with you until he’s satisfied that
I’ll
be satisfied you’re as safe as possible. That’s the final word on it.”

“It’s just . . . I’ve already stolen Farley from you for two days.”

“I’m perfectly capable of handling this farm. I said it’s my final word. Look at my face.” Narrowing those heated eyes, Jenna pointed a finger at her jaw. “This is my final-word face.”

“Let’s go, Lil. Your mother’s final word is law. You know that as well as I do.” He leaned down, kissed his wife. “Don’t worry.”

“I’ll worry less now.”

Giving up, Lil waited while her father got his coat, and said nothing when he unlocked his rifle from its case. She got behind the wheel of her truck, sent him a look before she turned to drive away. “How come you don’t have to go with me every time I head out to the field? Did I see you in Nepal? You know I’ve tracked tigers, in the wild, for collaring programs.”

“Somebody wasn’t trying to arrange it so the tiger was tracking you, were they?”

“Okay, your point. Anyway, I could use you with the construction of the new enclosure.” With a sniff, Lil pushed her sunglasses on, then folded her arms. “Don’t think you’re getting a free lunch out of this.”

“I’ll remind you about lunch around noon. If I’m working, I’d better get a sandwich.”

It made her laugh, and when she reached over, Joe took her hand and gave it a squeeze.

 

 

 

COOP HELPED OUTFIT a group of eight men for a scheduled three-day trip. The group from Fargo put the package together as a bachelor’s party. Which, Coop reflected, made a change from a strip club. They ragged on each other constantly in the way of old friends, and were hauling enough beer to float down the trail. Since the horses were his, he checked their camping gear, their kits and supplies—and satisfied himself that everything was in good order.

With Gull, he watched them trot to the trailhead, and wondered how they’d have reacted if he’d mentioned there might be a psychopath roaming the hills. He suspected they’d have gone on their merry way regardless, and took some relief that their plans would take them well away from the refuge.

“They’d do fine,” Gull told him. “That Jake? He’s been coming around every year for the six years I’ve been working the outfit with your grandpa. He knows what he’s doing.”

“They’re going to get shit-faced tonight.”

“Yah,” Gull said, mimicking their accent. “You betcha. Anyhow, we could use more groups like that.” Gull watched their progress from under the brim of his battered brown hat. “We’ll be getting them now that it’s coming on spring.”

“It may be coming on spring, but those boys are going to freeze their dicks off tonight pissing out that beer.”

Gull grinned. “Well, yeah. Hope it thaws out for the groom before the honeymoon. So, boss, I got that guided in another hour. Family trail ride. The pa runs a good two-eighty. I was going to put him up on Sasquash.”

“He’s good to go. Do you have any plans for tonight, Gull?”

“Can’t say I do.” Gull’s grin widened with his wink. “You asking me on a date, boss?”

“I’m too shy,” Coop said, and it made Gull guffaw. “Lil’s had some trouble over at her place.”

“I heard about it.”

“She could use some help, if a man didn’t mind freezing his dick off.”

Gull gave his crotch a subtle pat. “South Dakota peckers don’t freeze so easy as a drunk’s from Fargo.”

“Must be from all the jerking off,” Coop mused, and put Gull in stitches again. “Can you take a turn at guard duty over there tonight? Say two to six?”

“Sure, boss, I can do that. Need anybody else?”

No hesitation, Coop thought. No complaint. “I could use two more men who you trust not to shoot themselves, or anybody else.”

“I’ll see what I can do about that. I’ll think on it. I guess I’ll go see about getting those box lunches for this guided.”

“I’ll check them in when they get here.”

When they parted ways, Coop went to the storefront. The old desk faced the window and gave him a view of Deadwood that wasn’t quite what he imagined Calamity Jane and Wild Bill had seen in their day. Still, it maintained its Western flavor, with its awnings and architecture and old-timey lampposts. Its
feel,
he supposed, as the town spread and climbed its way up the hills. Cowboys mixed with the tourists; saloons cozied up to souvenir shops.

And a man could find a game of poker or blackjack day or night if he wanted to gamble. But the proprietors weren’t likely to murder a man in the back room and feed him to the pigs.

Progress.

He dealt with the paperwork, the forms and waivers, so he could move the family group along when they arrived. And so he could carve some time for his own devices.

He pulled a ginger ale out of the cold box, since he’d buzzed his blood on coffee that morning. People passed by, and some likely glanced in. They’d see a man going about his business, keyboarding on a computer that, to Coop’s mind, desperately needed replacing.

He opened Lil’s file. He might not be an investigator anymore, but that didn’t mean he’d forgotten how to investigate. He’d have preferred being sure her list of staff, interns, and volunteers was complete. But he had enough to keep him busy. The staff, past and current, hadn’t netted him a thing. He probably knew more about all of them now than some would be comfortable with, but he knew more about a lot of people than most were comfortable with.

Though Jean-Paul had not technically been staff, Coop had done a run on him. Broken relationships were petri dishes waiting to brew trouble. He knew the French guy had been married and divorced in his early twenties. It was likely Lil had that information, and since it didn’t seem to be relevant, Coop simply filed it away. He found no criminal, and a current address in Los Angeles.

Stay there, Coop thought.

He’d uncovered a few criminal brushes on staff, but nothing more violent than the vet having a scuffle during a protest on animal testing fifteen years earlier.

The former interns comprised a bigger chunk. They were a diverse group, economically, geographically, academically. He followed some through college, grad school, into careers. A quick scan showed Coop that a high percentage of interns Lil had trained pursued careers somewhere in the field.

He found some scrapes with the law as he picked his way through. Drugs, DUIs, a couple of assaults and/or destruction of property—usually connected to drugs or alcohol.

Those would earn a closer look.

He did the same with the volunteers—any whose names actually made it into the files, he thought, annoyed.

He culled out any who’d lived in or moved to the Dakotas. Proximity could be a factor, and he believed whoever was harassing Lil knew the hills as well as she did.

In the tedious way it demanded, he cross-referenced the assaults, the drug busts, the DUIs with geography, and got a single hit.

Ethan Richard Howe, age thirty-one. A trespassing hit in Sturgis, and that was close, when he’d been twenty, charges dropped. Carrying a concealed weapon—.22 revolver—without a license two years later in Wyoming. And an assault that looked like a bar fight and had put him inside for a year and a half in Montana at the ripe old age of twenty-five.

Early release, time off for good behavior. And, thought the former cop, to move inmates out as others moved in.

Three hits, Coop mused, one for being where he didn’t belong, one for a weapon, and the last for violence. He’d give Howe a closer look.

He started to move on, then had to break as the Dobsons arrived—Tom, Sherry, and their two teenage daughters—for check-in.

He knew his job and it was more than getting forms signed, more than making sure the customers could actually sit a horse. He chatted with the father, gave little back stories on each of the horses. Took time as if he had an endless supply of it in his pockets.

“It’s a good, easy trail,” he assured Sherry, who seemed more nervous than excited. “There’s nothing like seeing the hills on horseback.”

“But we’ll be back well before dark.”

“Gull will have you back by four.”

“You hear about people getting lost.”

“Now, Sherry,” Tom began.

“Gull grew up here,” Coop assured her. “He knows the trails, and so do the horses. You couldn’t be in better hands.”

“I haven’t been on horseback in ten years.” Sherry stepped onto the mounting block Coop provided. “I’m going to ache in places I forgot I had.”

“You can get a good massage right here in town, if you’re interested.”

She glanced back at Coop, and for the first time a little light gleamed in her eyes. “Really?”

“I can book you one, if you’re interested. Maybe for five o’clock?”

“You can do that?”

“Happy to.”

“Five o’clock massage. I don’t suppose I could get a hot stone?”

“Sure. Fifty or eighty minutes?”

“Eighty. My day just got a lot better. Thank you, Mr. Sullivan.”

“My pleasure, ma’am. You have a nice ride.”

He went in, booked the massage, wrote up the particulars. The business would get a referral fee, which didn’t hurt. Then he shifted gears and went back to Lil’s file.

He started a new run on the women. He leaned toward a man in this case, but he knew better than to discount the female. He hadn’t gotten a good enough look that early morning to be absolutely certain. In any case, a woman might be the connection.

He worked his way through the ginger ale and half the ham sandwich his grandmother had packed him. He couldn’t stop her from packing his lunch, and had to admit he didn’t try very hard.

It was nice to have someone who’d take the time, take the trouble.

Marriages, divorces, kids, degrees. One of the earlier interns in the program now lived in Nairobi, another was a vet specializing in exotic animals in L.A.

And another, he noted as his instincts hummed, had vanished.

Carolyn Lee Roderick, age twenty-three, missing for eight months and a handful of days. Last seen in Denali National Park, where she’d been doing fieldwork.

He followed the hum and dug out what he could on Carolyn Roderick.