Sinister (21 page)

What an arrogant son of a bitch, taking credit for his offspring. Colton chewed his meat, determined not to let his old man spoil a good dinner. As he swallowed, he felt a steady pressure on his right thigh; under the table, Sabrina’s hand slid over his muscles and gave a squeeze, as if staking her territory. He turned to her and caught the fire in her eyes, the flame that quickly ignited at his touch. He could scarcely drag his gaze away. He’d plundered those lips a dozen times in the past few days, but she always left him wanting more. He wondered if he could entice her into slipping out to the barn between dinner and dessert.

“We’ve got to make the most of this white Christmas,” Nell said. “Keep up family traditions. I’m thinking about that old sleigh parked in the storage shed.”

Nell had always been the one who stuck with tradition the most.

Scooping up a spoonful of applesauce, Ricki said, “A sleigh ride in the snow? Brook’s never done that.”

“You sound like a freakin’ Christmas carol,” Brook muttered.

“But it’s so much fun,” Nell said. “I think it was our mom’s favorite Christmas tradition. Whenever we had snow, she insisted on it.”

“I can hook two of the horses up to the sleigh tomorrow,” Colton said.

“Didn’t Mom have jingle bells?” Ricki asked as everyone but Nell groaned aloud.

“God help us,” Delilah said.

“Oh, come on, Del,” Colt said. “You don’t have to pretend to be cool. You’re not in SoCal anymore.”

“I bet I can find them,” Nell said determinedly.

Everyone finished eating, but they remained at the table, talking and joking. Colton sipped from a mug of coffee, listening to the noise of his big, crazy family and his smaller one—Sabrina on his right and Rourke on his left. Maybe he understood some of the old man’s Dillinger pride. Family pride.

There was a pounding noise from the kitchen, and suddenly they came traipsing in—Jen, Tyler and the two kids.

“You missed dinner, but you made it for dessert,” Ira said, clapping his younger son on the back. Tyler was a younger version of Colton, with the same dark hair shot with red, the same lean cowboy physique.

“I’m heating up some pork chops,” Mrs. Mac assured the kids, five-year-old Haley and eleven-year-old Justin.

“Let me help you unload,” Colton said, rising from the table.

And suddenly everyone was up, eager to help—or maybe it was just the lure of the snow. They all donned coats and boots and headed out to the circle of light in the driveway by the large garage. The unloading was done in a minute, but people lingered, talking and laughing. The older kids worked the snow, rolling a large sphere for the base of a snowman. Haley and Nell flopped down on their backs and waved their arms to make snow angels.

Rourke and Justin were talking, working on something together, and Colt felt a flash of pride at the resilience of his son. He strode over for a word and noticed an arsenal of snowballs, stacked in a pyramid.

He stopped short, grinning. Industrious kids.

He leaned down to scoop some snow. As he was rolling it into a ball, the boys noticed him.

“That’s a nice-looking stash of ammo,” he drawled.

“Stay back,” Justin said, “if you know what’s good for you.”

“Quick word of advice,” Colt said as he packed the snowball in his hands. “Aim for the body.”

The boys grinned, then ducked as he wound up and whipped the snowball at Rourke. They responded by pelting him with missiles.

“Save yourselves!” he shouted, running past his brothers and sisters to dive behind Tyler’s SUV. He grabbed Sabrina and swept her off her feet, taking her along.

There were gasps and howls and laughter as everyone scattered, then re-emerged with snow bombs flying. Colt grinned. Life could be pretty damn good when things came together.

 

 

There they were. The Dillingers. One big, happy family. Joy in the air.

How satisfying it would be to drop one of them in the snow with a bullet, quick and clean. But no . . . a knife was the way . . .

He fondled the teeth in his pocket as he watched them play in the golden light of the illuminated lodge. He’d wanted to take another tonight, but he had to be patient. A slight delay. A small sacrifice worth the ultimate reward.

More than a tooth to fondle in his pocket.

A real, live trophy.

A live Dillinger to play with for a while.

 

 

The lights of the dashboard cast a glow on Ricki’s face as she sat beside Sam in the Jeep. After last night, after that kiss that had turned into a heated make-out session, it had become challenging to be in close spaces like this with her. That was why Sam had tried to talk her out of coming along for the drive out to Dodge Miller’s place, a trailer on reservation land. He valued her as a deputy, but he had to utilize every ounce of restraint in his body to keep the physical heat down.

He wanted her, and he hated himself for it. What kind of boss lusted after his employee?

“I asked my father about Dodge Miller and the loan,” Ricki said. “Ira tried to dismiss it as a simple conversation. Then he told me that Dodge brought Mia into it. Dodge claimed that Mia would benefit from the butcher shop’s prosperity. Said how he would take care of her, would take her off Dad’s hands. That really pissed Dad off. Yes, Mia always hung around, but Dad felt sorry for her, I guess.”

“So your father refused the loan.”

Ricki nodded. “And Dodge’s shop went belly-up because apparently he couldn’t get one of the local banks to bail him out.”

Sam caught a hint of her sweet scent as she shifted her legs. “Maybe the business wasn’t so profitable after all. I don’t really know Dodge Miller’s finances, but I can tell you, his living quarters are pretty ramshackle. This end of the reservation is a sorry place. You can’t see much in the dark, but these houses are modest. Some of them are old hunting shacks without insulation or plumbing.”

He was driving slowly now, looking for the turnoff to the access road—just a black hole in the trees. His Jeep bumped along for about a quarter of a mile before the headlights swept over a small, snow-covered trailer.

“I’m going to leave the headlights on,” Sam said. “Otherwise, it’s pitch-black out here.”

“You sure that’s not going to piss Dodge off?”

“Chances are, he’ll be pissed off no matter what we do.”

They stepped out into the cold, still night, noise muffled by the steadily falling snow. Sam knew that Ricki was behind him. She had his back, and that felt good. Being able to have complete trust in your partner was what it was all about.

It took a few knocks to get a response, but finally the door opened a crack and Dodge appeared, cap covering his eyes and flashlight grazing his beard.

The beam of the light blinded Sam for a moment, before he turned down his Stetson and let his eyes adjust.

“Sheriff? What the hell’s going on?” Dodge demanded.

“Didn’t mean to alarm you, Dodge, but I’ve been calling you all day. When I couldn’t reach you, I decided to take a ride out, talk to you in person.”

“I got no desire or reason to talk to you or your deputy,” Dodge said as the stink of booze filled the air. “You’re wasting your time and gas, coming out here.”

“Dodge . . . hold on.” Sam already had the tip of his steel-toed boot in the door to keep it from slamming in his face. “I need to talk to you about Mia. You heard she was killed?”

“You got a warrant for my arrest?”

“No.”

“Then get the hell out!”

Dodge shoved on the door, but it bounced off Sam’s boot, bringing a string of curses from the trailer’s occupant, who clasped his hand over the door and leaned into it, his face hidden from view.

“I don’t have a warrant, but I could get one.” Sam paused as Dodge made a futile effort to inch the door closed. “Why don’t you make it easy on you and me and let us in? Talk with us a few minutes. You might know something that could help us find Mia’s killer. He’s out there, Dodge. And he’s not done.”

The door opened again, but now the flashlight was gone, a soft light glowing behind Dodge. “You don’t know jack shit,” he said, his eyes still in shadow. “You just come out here and try to pin it on me.”

“I’m not trying to pin it on anyone, just asking some questions. That’s all.”

“I see.”

“Could you tell us your whereabouts on Satur—”

Dodge cut in. “I work my ass off for shit over there in Lander. Ten-hour shifts, most of them in the fridge. I got days when my fingers ache down to the bone from the chill. I lost everything and now I got arthritis, too, and I’m just a piece of meat, owned by someone else. A shit job in a shit world. No one in this town gets that.”

Ricki spoke up from behind Sam. “We’re just trying to figure out what happened to Mia.”

“Who said that?” Dodge’s head snapped as if he’d been stung, and he wheeled around and shot the beam of his light on Ricki’s face. “You got a woman ... a Dillinger? Is that fucking Ricki Dillinger playing cop?”

A protective instinct rose in Sam. “That’s my deputy,” he said firmly.

“Fuck that.” Dodge lifted his chin so that his beady eyes could latch on to Ricki, and Sam shifted into Dodge’s path, uncomfortable with her being in harm’s way. “It’s men like her papa who ran me out of business. Buying up all the land and jacking up the price of rent! Greedy fuckers. A dozen Ira Dillingers. That was all it took.”

“That may be so, but Ricki is a law-enforcement officer. She’s got nothing to do with your business going down.” Sam drew himself up, trying to see into the trailer, but a glimpse of stacked pots and bottles was the best he could do. This was a bust; Dodge was too drunk to be reliable, and there was no way they were getting inside.

“They’re all alike. Rich bastards.” Dodge slapped a hand to his face, his words slowed by the alcohol in his blood. “Money grubbers, counting their coins. Not a single good bone in their bodies.”

“I want to know about Mia,” Sam said, trying to change the subject. “About the man who killed her. We haven’t apprehended him, Dodge. Don’t you want to step up and help us catch him before it happens again? Tell me what you know. Tell me now, or I’ll be back in the morning with a warrant.”

Sam knew he would probably be back regardless, but it was worth a shot.

“Mia didn’t care about me. She only cared about
them
. Well, they’re coming down. Get ready for a fall, pretty Ricki. Get ready, because you’re all coming down. Down!”

Dodge swayed behind the door and teetered. There was a flurry of motion, a
thump
, and Dodge was on the floor of the trailer. Sam pushed the door in against the man’s stocking feet. “He’s out,” he told Ricki.

Sam bent over the man, saw that he was breathing. “You’re the one who’s down, my friend.” He surveyed the dimly lit trailer, though it was hard to decipher objects in the clutter lit only by a dim light over the kitchen sink.

“What do you think, Sam? A search? Call for an ambulance, or let him sleep it off?”

“Jes’ leave me alone,” Dodge mumbled from the floor.

“We’ll let him sleep it off.” Sam stepped back and reached for the door behind him. “Let’s check back tomorrow.”

“I hate to let it go till then.”

“I know.”

They waited a few moments until Dodge’s heavy breathing turned into a loud snore, then they left the trailer. Climbing back into the Jeep, Ricki let out a sigh. “I know he’s hit some hard times, and I’m not saying that he hurt Mia, but that man is one angry son of a bitch.”

“Amen.”

“I managed to talk our bride out of lining the staircase with little votive candles, seeing as how the gown Emma designed for her is made out of chiffon,” Delilah said to Nell the following day as she examined one of the bows she’d tied to the railing, trimming it with a fat pair of clippers. “It could go up in a puff of smoke with the slightest spark.”

“When’s Pilar getting back?” Nell asked.

“This evening, I think.”

“Guess what I found.”

Delilah looked up at her sister and saw her eyes were dancing. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“The jingle bells. They were in the attic.”

“Lucky us,” Delilah teased her younger sister as Nell bounded up the stairs to ostensibly find the bells.

Delilah was just finishing up her handiwork when her father came stamping through the front door along with Georgina Kincaid and the oilmen. Ira immediately threw an arm out to encompass his domain, showing off a little as he pointed out the handmade wood finishes on the stairs, the cathedral ceilings, the wide plank hardwood floors and the breathtaking views of Dillinger land, as far as the eye could see. She’d heard it all before, but Delilah thought it was a little obnoxious to be spouting off in front of Georgina—especially if Dad wanted to acquire some Kincaid land. For a successful businessman, Ira could be obtuse at times.

“Really fine place you’ve got here,” Len Mercer said as Ira led the group toward his office.

Realizing he was planning to sequester himself inside for God knew how long, Delilah called, “Dad?” She needed to remind him of the upcoming sleigh ride.

“What?” Ira frowned, letting her know by his tone that he didn’t appreciate the interruption while he was conducting business.

“A word, please.”

Tom Unger paused, facing Delilah. He seemed amused by the interplay between Ira and her.

“This won’t take long,” Ira said. “A few hours at the most.”

It was already afternoon. “That might be too long,” she said.

Delilah could hear Nell’s approach as the jingle bells rang merrily on the upstairs landing.

“Dad!” Nell cried, seeing he was about to enter his office.

Exasperated, Ira shooed the others into his office then glared at his daughters.

“We’re going on a sleigh ride. How long is this meeting?” Nell asked.

“If I miss it, I miss it,” he declared, annoyed.

“Go.” Delilah made a shooing motion with one hand. “Nobody’s twisting your arm.”

He shook his head, hesitated for a moment, then returned to his office, leaving a crestfallen Nell and a totally ticked-off Delilah.

“You’re coming, aren’t you?” Nell asked her.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

As Nell left, Delilah threw a baleful glare at the closed door. Her father was a hard and irascible man. While he pretended to have a strong sense of family pride, it was more show than substance. When he’d called her on the phone the night before she left Hollywood, she’d asked him if he’d sent wedding invitations to the rest of their family—Lila and her husband and children, Delilah’s cousins Tara and Garth, in Alaska; Ira’s own cousin, Royal Daugherty and his family from Bad Luck, Texas; her mother’s sister, Cecile, whom Delilah hadn’t seen since she was a child. Ira had snorted and told her no, acting as if she were crazy to even suggest such a thing. For all Ira’s delight in his own nuclear family, he had no use for anyone outside it except select residents of Prairie Creek.

“Narcissism,” she muttered aloud. The men in her life were lousy with it.

She wanted a baby, but the idea of finding a male to help with that endeavor was fast losing what little appeal it had once had.

Well, there were ways to have babies without getting into a relationship with a man. She had some money saved up. She could take some time off and have a baby and start her own nuclear family, without the autocratic and narcissistic tendencies of a male.

She could do it. But somehow, the idea of being a single parent didn’t sit right with her. She had always harbored a notion that she would hook up with a certain lean, long-legged cowboy with blue eyes that could see straight into her heart. A Kincaid; forbidden fruit.

Delilah sighed. Why did she always dream impossible dreams?

 

 

Ricki combed over the lab report on her home computer one more time. A new bit of evidence that had come in early this morning: the coroner had managed to identify a second blood type on Mia Collins’s body, and that blood had been a match with Amber Barstow.

“We believe the killer used the same knife to carve up both victims, and the knife wasn’t completely cleaned,” Sam had told her when he’d called to wake her up this morning.

“So it’s definitely the same killer,” Ricki had said. “Why? What’s the motive?”

“Victim selection appears to be random. The only major link is that both murders took place in Prairie Creek.”

Sam was right, of course, but Ricki felt there had to be something they were missing. She’d rushed through breakfast and lunch so that she could get back to the computer. Unfortunately Brook had tagged along down from the lodge, and now wouldn’t come out of her room. She seemed determined to stay planted in an attempt to avoid the family sleigh ride.

Well, Ricki wasn’t going for that. They were going on a sleigh ride, and then Brook would have to go back to the main lodge while Ricki headed out to interview Doc Farley’s “secret friend,” Allison Waller. Sam had finally gotten her name from Doc, and they’d both thought the woman might be more forthcoming if she was interviewed by a female.

Closing the file, Ricki rose from the computer. “Brook? We need to get going. Bundle up. Layers always work, and you definitely need a hat.”

The bedroom door opened and Brook stood scowling in the threshold. “I told you, I’m not going.”

“Honey, it’s time for the family sleigh ride.”

“So? Sophie is gonna call me any minute on Skype. I told her I’d be here.”

“Send her a text and reschedule.”

“She’s going to her aunt’s for Christmas. This is our last chance.”

“Oh, Brook.” Disappointment seeped into the room, separating mother and daughter. “Why do you do this?”

“I had this set up like forever!”

Ricki turned away, drawing in a breath. “Fine.” It wasn’t fine, but then she had to remind herself that her daughter could be doing far worse things, the kind of things they’d left behind in New York. “Lock the door behind me, and do not leave this house. It’s going to be dark soon. I shouldn’t even leave you alone here.”

“I know how to use a gun now,” Brook said airily. “Sam said I’m pretty good. Maybe you should leave your gun with me.”

“Yeah, that’s just what I’m going to do.” Ricki had grown up in a culture with guns, but she wasn’t yet ready to pass that on to her daughter. “Stay put. I’ll be back as soon as it’s over.” Ricki left the house, wondering why she bothered.

 

 

As soon as her mother was gone, Brooklyn opened the kitchen cabinet. She shoved two Pop-Tarts into the toaster, then went to the laptop and clicked on the Skype icon. Sophie was bursting with all the energy and coolness of New York.

“Aw . . . it can’t be all bad,” Sophie said.

“The only good thing is that my aunt Delilah is here from California. She makes TV commercials, and she’s really nice.”

“Really? Do you think she could get you in a commercial?”

Brook sighed. “She used to be an actress . . . I don’t know ... maybe. I wish we had gone to live with her, instead of here with cows.”

“So what are you doing for Christmas?”

“Nothing,” Brook answered. Nothing she wanted to do, anyway.

Beyond Sophie’s smiling face on the laptop, Brooklyn could see the snow-covered landscape outside the window. The big lodge was covered in beautiful lights, and there were two ginormous trees. They’d gone to that Christmas party in town, and although Brook didn’t really know anyone other than Sara, it had been kind of fun seeing the town hall set up like a winter wonderland. That little gingerbread house with Santa inside. All the lights and the trees. The miniature train set run by an old man who was so proud of it. Rourke had helped out with the pony rides and had also delivered cups of hot cider to the volunteers.

“. . . and I went to see the tree at Rockefeller Center yesterday,” Sophie was saying. “We were going to go ice skating, but—”

The screen went black as the connection cut out.

“Oh, shi—” This was just her rotten luck.

The furnace bucked a few times, then the room went dark but for the flicker of flames in the fireplace. Brooklyn shuffled to the windows to open the drapes. Watery light faded in, along with a cool draft.

Mom was wrong about moving back here. This place was creepy. She shivered and took her cell out of her pocket. Well, at least her cell phone still worked, although the battery was low. Where the hell was her charger? Well, it wasn’t going to work with the power out. Quickly, she sent a text to Sophie: computer down! this place sucks.

A moment later, her phone buzzed. Sophie!

“Oh my God, can you believe the power went out?” Brook paced away from the window, unable to shake the creepy feeling.

“Thank God for cell phones,” Sophie said.

“Really.” As Brook talked, she went into her room, grabbed the blanket from her bed and collapsed into the closet where she’d nested the other night when she’d heard that scary noise.

“Did I tell you about the murders?”

“Murders?” Sophie laughed. “Now you’re just making stuff up.”

“No. No. No, I’m not,” Brook assured her. She told Sophie about the woman who was just passing through town, and then how Mia Collins, sort of a distant relative, was killed in the same way.

“Ohmigosh! That’s way more dangerous than New York!”

“I know, but my mom is all like, this is a great place to live. And people are just rude here. And strange. Not like New York strange. Like hick strange.”

“Well, this relative of yours that got killed ... seriously? I mean, Brook ... that’s really scary!” Sophie said.

“That’s what I’ve been saying! I didn’t know Mia all that well. Kit’s her daughter, and she’s like a cousin, sort of, and Mom’s worried about both of us. Oh. And Mom’s a deputy now.”

“A deputy?”

“I’m telling you, my mom will never leave! I can’t wait till college when I can get the hell out of . . .” Brook’s voice trailed off as a strange odor reached her nose. What was that? It smelled kind of ... like nail polish remover. She sniffed again. No. Now it smelled like smoke. There had been a few logs in the fireplace, but she usually couldn’t smell that back in her bedroom.

Letting Sophie talk, she got out of the closet and took a deep breath. Definitely something burning.

“I’ll call you right back.” She shoved her phone in her pocket and recalled the Pop-Tart she’d left in the toaster. Her pulse raced a little faster as she thought of how mad her mom would be if . . .

She opened the bedroom door to a room of haze. Immediately, her eyes burned, and she choked on a breath. Dark smoke masked everything . . . except the flames rolling over the walls at the front of the house!

“Oh, my God!” Casting a quick look at the kitchen sink, she considered throwing water on the flames, but this was no toaster fire.

She edged forward, snatched up a dishcloth and covered her mouth, her eyes, searching wildly for escapes.

The kitchen door was a wall of flame. And the front? She couldn’t even make out the door in the roaring fury of fire!

Whimpering in fear, she backed into her bedroom and slammed the door behind her. The window! She yanked on it and accidentally dropped her phone behind the side of the bunk bed.

Oh, no. Oh, no. For some stupid reason the window wouldn’t open.

“Damn it. Damn it!”

She was trapped in a burning house!

 

 

Seated between Delilah and Nell, Ricki wasn’t allowed to sulk about her daughter during the sleigh ride. It would have been impossible, with Tyler’s wife, Jen, acting as the Christmas carol police, calling out new songs and making sure that everyone was singing. Well, almost everyone. Delilah seemed lost in her own world and Colton said he didn’t want to scare the horses, and Rourke followed Colt’s every move. That, at least, was heartwarming to see how he was accepting his father. Brook could take a lesson from him.

Maybe Ricki’s glum feeling was about more than Brook’s defection. Maybe it was about Mom. Rachel Dillinger had always said there was nothing like a country sleigh ride to clear the head. She’d been right. And with Ricki’s head clear, she realized that she still missed her mother. In some ways, she always would.

As Colt shifted the reins to guide the sleigh team back to the barn, Ricki noticed a dark cloud on the horizon. Not so much a cloud ...

“Stop the music a second. Someone’s got a fire going on our property.” Ricki pointed through the purpling skies. “Do you guys see that smoke over toward the east?” The song trailed off as everyone turned to take a look.

“Think it’s Davis, doing a controlled burn?” Nell asked anxiously.

“Not this time of year. Not this late in the day.” A stab of worry pinned Ricki as she squinted at the black puff on the horizon.

“What is it?” Jen asked.

“It’s back toward the lodge.” Colton slapped the reins and hollered to the horses, and the sleigh shot ahead down the snow-covered path.

A stand of trees and a gentle rise blocked that part of the landscape from view, but the second that the sleigh broke past the barrier, Ricki’s worst fears were confirmed.

The foreman’s house was on fire!

The front porch was in flames!

And her daughter was inside.

“Hold on tight!” Colt shouted back.