Sinister (12 page)

“I thought that was your car,” Kit said.

In her down jacket, jeans, saggy skirt and beanie, Kit was a bundle of disappointment. Mia worried about her. Day and night. Kit should be in school instead of doing God knew what around the Dillinger ranch on a December day colder than a witch’s tit.

“You want to come home with me, Kit? I’ve got a stop to make, but then I’ll take you back to the house.” Mia squeezed her daughter’s arm and was surprised at the rock-hard contours of her biceps.

Kit disengaged herself from Mia’s grip with a sharp tug of her arm. “I’m feeding the horses today. None of the hands want to come in on a Saturday.”

Mia nodded, unable to stop her mouth from curling into a pout.

Kit stiffened. “Don’t cry.”

Although Mia shook her head, she couldn’t deny the tears stinging her eyes. This was all so unfair: Pilar soaking up all the Dillinger money while Mia and Kit had to rough it.

“I’ll come home later,” Kit said reluctantly.

It was more than Mia could have hoped for from her strange and distant daughter. This had been their lot for years, half-estranged, Kit almost defiant and Mia not wanting to cross the line and get the police involved. Since Kit would soon turn eighteen, it seemed a moot point.

She dashed away her tears and swallowed hard. “I’ve got to run over to the church, but when I get home, I’ll put on a pot of black bean chili.”

Kit simply nodded.

“I’ll leave the pot on the stove.” Mia wanted to pull her into her arms and hug her tight, but she knew from experience that the more she tried to rein in her free-spirited daughter, the more likely she would lose Kit forever. So Mia forced a smile, then headed back to her car. Life was full of disappointments, but you had to move on. Hadn’t Judd taught her that so long ago? A person just had to keep moving. At least Kit was coming home for the night.

 

 

“This isn’t gonna work,” Rourke said as he and Colton walked down the hillside to Ricki’s place.

“What isn’t?”

“I already told you, I have a dad.”

“Okay.” The sky was a vault of white and the air had that brittle winter feel, as if it were sprinkled with minute shards of ice, tiny pieces that burned your lungs when you took a deep breath.

Colton glanced over the rise in the direction of the valley where they’d dug up the coyote this morning. He thought of Sabrina and was almost embarrassed at how badly he wanted to set things straight. Annoyed at himself, he kicked at the curtain of snow over the trail. Damned if women weren’t the most difficult creatures to deal with.

“So don’t do this,” Rourke said.

“Well, I am your father, whether you like it or not. And I want to get to know you.”

“Nobody asked me what I want.”

“That’s true.”

“How long is it gonna be before I can go home?”

“Awhile.”

The boy looked him up and down, a hard scrutiny. Grudgingly, he picked up his pace, snowflakes sticking to his hair and shoulders. “I’m just saying, this is lame.”

Colton had decided neither he nor Rourke was ready for a heavy one-on-one session, so he’d enlisted Ricki’s help. The plan was to make homemade pizzas, catch a football game on television and maybe, if the mood was right, play some cards. Colton figured he’d take it slow with the boy and let things develop on their own.

Following Rourke up the shoveled walk to Ricki’s, Colton wondered how he’d stepped into all this relationship muck all at once. He was suddenly faced with putting things right with both Sabrina and the son he never knew. Since Margo and Darcy’s deaths, he’d stayed away from relationships, but he couldn’t back off with Rourke. Their tie was for life. Whether the kid liked it or not. And he wasn’t going to give up on Sabrina, either, now that he’d found her again. Funny how she’d gotten under his skin with just a glance. Maybe she’d always been there and he just hadn’t noticed.

Ricki met them at the door in an apron. She shuttled them both inside, where the scent of rising bread dough mingled with the sharp tang of tomato sauce and a faint smell of wood smoke from the fire blazing in the stove greeted them.

“Aren’t you domestic?” he observed as Rourke kicked off his boots and flopped onto the couch.

“Where’s Brook?” the boy asked as his gaze skated around the small living area.

Ricki hooked her thumb toward the back of the house. “In her room. Why don’t you tell her to come join us? Otherwise she might have to suffer the indignity of having sausage on her cheese pizza.”

“I heard that!” Brook appeared from the back of the house, cell phone in hand. “I
hate
sausage. I’m a vegetarian.”

“Since when?” Colton asked.

Ricki answered dryly, “Last week.”

“Meat is not good for you, Mom.” Brook clicked through several channels. “Sophie’s been doing the no-meat thing for two months and she feels great.”

“Sophie is Brook’s best friend. She lives in New York,” Ricki explained. Then, seeing that her daughter had settled on another reality show about a B-list celebrity’s life, she called, “Hey. We’re watching college football today.”

“Ugh!” Brook dropped the remote onto the coffee table. “Why?”

Ricki said, “Uncle Colton’s a fan.”

Brook pulled a face and her gaze shifted to her uncle and she asked again, “Why?”

Colton said, “Because I love seeing two teams trying to beat the crap out of each other.”

Brook gazed at him as if he were a Neanderthal, but Rourke slid an appreciative glance in his direction. “I like the Cowboys,” he said. “But Colorado State’s going to be tough to beat.”

“You want to hold your head up here, you gotta go with Wyoming,” Colton said, settling onto a corner of the sofa as he changed the channel. “Here we go. Looks like Wyoming already scored a field goal.”

Rourke didn’t comment. Out of the corner of Colton’s eye he saw the boy put his feet up on the coffee table, just like he had.

“Call me when the pizza is ready.” Brooklyn started down the hall, shouting back, “The
vegetarian
pizza.”

Ricki handed a can of root beer to both Colton and Rourke and they popped them open at the same time. Rourke groaned when the Cowboy receiver missed a pass.

They watched companionably for a few minutes, then a commercial came on. “So . . . do you hate my mother?” Rourke asked.

Colton felt his jaw drop as he wondered where Rourke had heard that. “’Course not. Your mom takes good care of you and wants what’s best for you. So do I.”

Rourke shrugged. “I heard you used to be in the rodeo. What did you do?”

“Mostly roped calves.” He turned the soda can in his hand. “Do you ride?”

“I’d like to, but Mom says it’s too dangerous.”

“Around here, horses are a way of life. I can hook you up, get you going if you want. Nothing too rough. I can talk to your mom.”

“She won’t like it.” A smile threatened Rourke’s lips.

“Yeah, well.” He shrugged.

“So, can you show me some roping tricks?”

“I might remember how.”

Rourke said scornfully, “You can’t have forgot how.”

“Why? I’m pretty old.”

“Not that old,” he said wisely.

Colt looked over at Ricki, who was beaming at the kitchen counter. It was just like a woman to turn to Jell-O inside over a guy moment.
Progress,
Colton thought. He and Rourke both turned back to the TV. He had no illusions that he could completely break down the wall between them today, but maybe he’d get there eventually.

Sabrina and Antonia walked to Molly’s Diner from the clinic. They closed the veterinarian office at four on Saturdays but left an emergency number listed on the door.

“Who would do that to a coyote?” Antonia asked for about the fifteenth time as they bent their heads against the wind.

“I don’t know,” Sabrina answered, just as she had every time. She adjusted her scarf as they entered the restaurant. An icy draft followed them in, fierce enough to rattle the diner windows.

“So, Colton was there with you,” Antonia said as they slid into a booth opposite each other.

“That’s right.” Sabrina reached for a menu left on the table.

Antonia lifted her shoulders and smiled. “So . . . ?”

“There’s nothing between Colton and me.”

“Yeah, I know. Nothing.”

“I’m telling the truth.” Sabrina snapped open the menu though she knew it by heart.

“But there could be, right? I mean, do you have his digits?”

“No.”

“Does he have yours?”

Sabrina lowered the menu and eyed her partner. “I’m sure he’s learned my cell number by now.”

A smile bloomed across Antonia’s lips. “What are you going to do when he calls?”

“Talk to him, probably.”

“Probably?”

Sabrina shook her head. She wasn’t ready to go there . . . at least not yet. But a little part of her was actually warming to the idea of seeing Colton again and she couldn’t help feel a bit of anticipation at the thought. There was a part of her, a very silly part, she thought, that had never stopped loving him, which, of course, was ridiculous.

The door opened, and Mia Collins came over in a flurry of snow and cold air. “Good afternoon, ladies.” She took off her wool cap and shook it, sending wet flakes flying toward the table.

Antonia scooted out of the way of the snow and Mia took that as an invitation to join them, which sent Antonia’s brows sky high. Mia wasn’t a friend to either of them and both Sabrina and her partner weren’t big fans of hers. The woman clung to the past and hung on to the Dillingers any way she could. Sabrina had once told Antonia, “If I end up bitter and deluded like that, promise that you’ll shoot me.” It was only half a joke.

Antonia pasted on a smile. “Hi, Mia. What’s up?”

“I just came from Pilar’s dress rehearsal at the Pioneer Church,” Mia said as she hung her coat and hat on the hook at the edge of the booth, “and I gotta say, I wish Molly served something stronger than coffee.” She slid in next to Antonia with a sigh.

“That bad?” Sabrina asked, eyes on Antonia.

“I was there to measure for flowers, but of course Pilar put me to work taking pictures so she could see herself from a hundred different angles. I swear, when you look up
vanity
in the dictionary, there must be a photo of Pilar Larson.”

“Harsh,” Sabrina said.

Mia shrugged. “I call ’em as I see ’em.”

“Sounds like Pilar,” Antonia said with a shrug. “How was the dress?”

“Beautiful, but I think she’s going to make Emma change it again.” Mia lowered her voice. “But that’s not the big news. I overheard earlier that Pilar’s son, Rourke, was supposed to be at the rehearsal but didn’t come, and do you know why?” When both women shook their heads, Mia leaned forward and delivered the news. “It’s because he was spending time with his
father,
Colton Dillinger. Turns out Chad wasn’t the boy’s father at all. Pilar had an affair with Colt.”

Sabrina’s heart did a painful little dive.

“I don’t believe it,” Antonia said scornfully.

“It’s true. Pilar and Ira were talking about it. Ira said he was the kid’s stepfather and grandfather.”

“He could’ve meant anything by that,” Antonia said.

“This sounds like another one of the stories that circulate about Pilar.”

Sabrina could barely breathe. This had to be a lie, right? Gossip generated by bored minds.

“It’s going to be all over town. Pilar got knocked up and pawned the kid off as Chad’s.” Mia sat back and folded her arms, her eyes glittering like a cat who’d just pounced on a mouse. “Can you believe that? Those Dillinger men sure are a fertile breed.” Mia wagged her head back and forth, grabbing one of the laminated menus. “What are y’all having?”

“Excuse me a minute,” Sabrina said. She felt hot and couldn’t see straight. It was nothing to her. This wasn’t her story. But Colton . . . with
Pilar?
She ducked down the hall by the restrooms.

Her cell phone rang at that moment and she looked down at the screen. She didn’t know the number, but she thought the area code was Montana.

Her throat was tight. She didn’t want to talk to him. She felt too raw, too let down. Even though her emotions were all out of line, she couldn’t help it.

The cell phone rang her default tone once again and she screwed up her courage and answered, “Hello?”

“Hey, Sabrina.” Colton’s warm tones came through the phone. She could tell he was happy. Could hear it in his voice. What would he hear in hers?

“Hi,” she said shortly.

“You want to get that coffee tomorrow?” he asked.

“I don’t know. I’ve . . . got a lot to do.”

“On Sunday? Okay, then, how about dinner together tomorrow night?” he pressed.

“I don’t know.” That at least was the truth.

“Is something wrong?”

“No, I just . . .” She drew a breath and told herself there was no time like the present. If she wanted an honest relationship with Colton—no, wait—if she wanted
any
kind of relationship with him, including just friendship, they needed to be straight with each other. Starting now. “I just heard that Rourke is your son.”

For a long moment, there was only the sound of the wind in the background and she sensed that he was standing outside. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Is it true?”

He made a strangled sound, then ground out, “Yes, but it wasn’t supposed to be out there yet.”

Her heart dropped again. “Oh. When would it be out there?”

“Listen, I can’t really get into all this right now. I’m at Ricki’s and—”

“Don’t worry. You don’t need to explain. It’s your life, Colt, and I’m just—a friend. Let’s talk later. Good-bye.”

Her hand was shaking as she slid her cell phone from her ear and ended the call. Damn it all. She really needed to get her head together where Colton Dillinger was concerned, but she feared it wasn’t going to happen.

 

 

The killer stared into the lantern in the center of the cabin and watched the dancing flame. It was time.

And it was time to get out of here. He stood and surveyed the dilapidated shack. It had probably been used for a hunting cabin back in the day, but now it stood empty, the thin walls shaking when the wind raced through this section of the valley.

With no electricity or running water, the place had all but been forgotten, but it had provided him the shelter he’d needed. Located close to the Dillinger spread and tucked into the woods, he had been able to come and go without being noticed. There were many other hideaway spots for him to lie low; he had a particular cave he liked.

But now things were about to change, so it was time to move on.

Besides, the old hunger gnawing inside him, his constant companion these days, was raw. Angry. The beast needed to be fed.

Ignoring the cold that blew through cracks in the walls, he reached into his backpack and pulled out a near-empty bottle of Jim Beam, who had, of late, been his only friend.

Well, except for the girl.

“Here’s to you,” he said, lifting the bottle and looking into the darkened corner of the room where she sat, propped against the wall. She was permanently seated, frozen that way. Her eyes were hollow, her skin a transparent, bluish tone, and the drizzle of blood on the corner of her mouth had dried and frozen in place.

He took a long swallow and grabbed one end of the tarp, shaking it open. He couldn’t keep her hidden here forever. And though she hadn’t started to decompose yet, not with these frigid temperatures, he was tired of looking at her. The thrill was gone.

“Sorry, baby, but I’m going to have to let you go,” he said as he finished his drink. Capping the bottle, he tucked it into his pack again. Opening the tarp was easy. Dragging her onto it was more of a challenge, but he was strong. Smiling to himself, he secured the tarp with baling twine from a spool he’d stolen right from under the old man’s nose.
Take that, you prick!

Hoisting her half-frozen and oh-so-dead body onto his shoulder in a fireman’s carry, he hauled her outside into wind so cold it iced his eyeballs. He closed his eyes and felt his way to the pickup, thinking of the corpse’s destination.

The perfect way to ruin a wedding. A sacred place, defiled.

“This is good-bye, darlin’,” he said as he tossed her into the truck bed next to the gas can. Her body landed with a hard
thunk
and the old can rattled. “It’s been fun, but it’s over.” He double-checked to see that the tailgate was secure. He wouldn’t want her sliding out before he was ready.

A gust of wind screamed through the canyon, and he climbed inside. He slammed the door against the wind, fired up the engine and tossed his gloves on the other seat. Anticipation thrummed through his body, and he couldn’t resist digging into his pocket and touching the teeth. His trophies, sharp and smooth. The sound of them clicking against each other brought him a pang of satisfaction.

Only two so far, but by this time tomorrow he’d have at least one more to add to his collection.

Yep, he thought, shifting the truck into drive, it was time to hit the Dillingers where it hurt.

Sabrina twisted off the knobs of the shower and wrapped a towel around her body. The hot water had eased the kink in her neck, but not her mind. Nothing could wash away the ache of disappointment. Colton had forgotten to fill her in on a big chapter in his life.

He had a son.

She kept trying not to think about it. No point in probing it under a microscope, because it was what it was. But it stung, and no amount of sweet-smelling shower gel or hot water could wash that kink away.

She unwrapped the towel and let her dry hair spill over her shoulder. Still naturally blond and thick. She was considering putting it up in a twist when she saw one dark paw slip beneath the door.

Claudia, ever curious, was sending her a message. “Okay, okay, I get it.” Sabrina opened the door and the cat poked her dark head inside. “Hey, there,” Sabrina said as Claudia stepped into the small room and hopped onto the closed lid of the toilet.

The doorbell chimed and Sabrina gritted her teeth. Thinking they would go away or leave a package if it was a deliveryman, she rewrapped her hair in a towel, and put on her bathrobe. She was determined to ignore them, but then the bell became persistent.

She’d wanted a night to hole up in her sweats, drink a little wine and throw herself a pity party—uninterrupted—but the incessant bell was not going to allow that.

Hurrying down the stairs in bare feet, she peered through the peephole.

Colton Dillinger leaned insolently against the post supporting the roof of her small porch. So, he was here. She should have known he wouldn’t wait to try and explain.

“Okay . . .” she warned herself, her heart beating a little faster as she turned the latch. “You are the worst kind of fool,” she muttered as she opened the door.

He straightened, all six foot two inches of him. Snow feathered the air behind him, a dotted halo of white surrounding the man she had spent most of her life alternately dreaming about and trying to forget.

“What’re you doing here?” she asked.

“From our phone conversation, I kinda thought maybe we should have a face-to-face.” The timbre of his voice caused a little spark of adrenaline to shoot through her body.

“Hey, it’s not my business. I shouldn’t have said anything to you. I was out of line. I, um, hope things work out for you and your son, I really do.” Oh, Lord ... she could feel tears gathering behind her eyes. “So, um, I’m going to say good night.”

She swung the door closed, but it met with a barrier.

Colt’s boot.

“C’mon, Sabrina,” he said.

I don’t want you here.
But she released her grip on the door. “You’re really going to do this, aren’t you.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Great.” She turned back to the living room.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. He followed her in, his boots ringing on the floor, and echoing in her heart. What the hell was he doing here? Why was she even letting him inside?

Because you want him here. You know it and he does, too. All those defenses you built up over the years, Sabrina, they’re thin as paper and falling down. You love him. You’ve always loved him, and that’s the problem. Oh, God . . .
She folded her arms over her chest protectively, hoping he didn’t notice the fact that she was trembling.