The Trophy Hunter (25 page)

“You’ve got her cell?”

“Sure, but─”

“Check out the incoming calls. Find the last
number she called.”

She heard him sigh. “Why didn’t I think of
that?” he said. “I’ll get it.”

In the few moments of silence that followed,
Diana tried to think of what she would have done in Rogart’s place.
She could find no pat answer.

“You’re not going to believe this,” he
finally said.

“Try me.”

“Joe Flannigan. She called Joe’s land line.
Maybe I was right all along about Joe and Larry.”

“But with Larry dead, we’ll never know for
sure, will we?” She couldn’t bring herself to repeat the gossip
Jess had brought back from Westcliffe, about his wife being alive.
He’d probably already heard it.

“Neither of the girls would give me a
straight story.”

“Girls? Plural?”

“Lori and Trisha,” he replied. “Trisha gave
up her dad as the baby’s father, but she won’t talk about Joe. I
was trying to build her trust. She’s looking for a father…a real
one. My guess is Joe let her down on that score. So she ran again.
I can’t imagine why she’d go back to him.”

“Neither can I,” replied Diana. “You’re
claiming that Trisha looked at both you and Joe as father
figures?”

“Sure. What did you think?”

Diana determined not to touch that one. “You
do know your daughter wasn’t with Larry? What are you doing about
Shane Cutler?”

“Part of what Jess is feeding you is crap. I
can’t do a damn thing about Shane. Lori won’t cooperate. The doctor
says not to press her.”

“You’re getting help for her? What changed
your mind?”

“You did,” he replied.

He seemed to have answers for everything. And
they made sense. Could Jess be just acting out the woman scorned
bit? Diana sighed as she thought of something else.

“What?” asked Rogart.

“I have to let the authorities know about
Trisha. I should’ve done that when you first told me. I’ll go
through my contact at the D.A.’s office.”

He didn’t reply. Diana twisted uncomfortably
in the sheets.

When he finally answered, his change of tone
jarred her. “Fine, Diana. Do what you have to do. But Fawn won’t be
here when they come for her.” His voice held about as much warmth
as a piece of granite.

“Wait, Darren. That may not necessarily
happen. I’ll do what I can─”

“Then give me a couple of days,” he pleaded,
emotion flowing back into his words. “Listen, Joe’s got a cabin in
the mountains above Evergreen. I know where it is. Trish may be
there. Go with me. Maybe we can resolve this thing, then we could
go to the authorities together. I could get proper custody of Fawn,
if Trisha doesn’t want her. I’ll do whatever it takes. Is that too
much to ask?”

What was a couple of days? The baby was safe,
although Trisha appeared to have made another bad choice. “I’ve got
court tomorrow. I should be clear for the next day. But you
shouldn’t wait. Just go check it out yourself.”

“If Trish is settled in, she’s not going
anywhere. She doesn’t have that many options. I’m not really
excited about going up there alone.”

“Make a call. What county is the cabin in?
Should it be the Feds?”

“She might not even be there. I’d really like
you to come with me, as a witness.”

Diana twisted a length of hair as she
vacillated. She felt she’d used up her options with Marge. One more
wild goose chase might seriously damage that relationship. Darren
didn’t need to know that, though. “Have you been to this cabin?”
she asked.

“No,” he answered without hesitation, “but
Brookvale’s so small, I’m sure we can find it.”

Chapter 44

He pictures the blonde bimbo on the stainless
steel table. Out with the old blood, in with the new. Better than
blood. Plastic tubing takes the old, brownish stuff down to the
drain below the table. They were all dirty inside before he
cleansed them. The new, clean fluid fills them and makes them
truly, fully his. Satisfying. Peaceful, even.

The Hunter watches them in his head as he
drives. He doesn’t need sleep when he has them to draw on. It
soothes him to relive the process and savor pictures of perfect,
naked women waiting for him at the lodge.

He can’t wait to see the finished Asian
project. Her fluids have already been replaced with Dr. Ara’s
special concoction. Well, perhaps not exactly like Ara’s, but close
enough. As close as available research could bring him.

Now she’s in the incubator where her flawless
form receives a series of paraffin infusions. This trip should do
it. Her new home is ready. He’s proud of his unique design that
suits her ethnicity. What was that old saying about people who live
in glass houses? No worry on that score. It concerns people who
live
in glass houses.

He chuckles and wishes he could share his
humor with the women. On second thought…

The winding drive through the pines of Upper
Bear Creek Valley heightens his anticipation. To relax, he relives
the sequence of events that brought him such good fortune: the
ideal workshop, close enough that the commute is doable, yet off
the beaten path and possessing a modesty that lets it merge with
its surroundings.

When he considers the proximity of the
creekside mansions that dot both sides of the narrow highway up
from Evergreen, it’s impossible to relax. The rush is nearly as
overpowering as the act itself─the taking of a specimen.

If he hadn’t met Arlette so soon after her
husband’s death, if he hadn’t been obliged to deliver the dead
husband’s last order, a deer head with a puny rack, he’d still be
operating out of his garage. Anthony Ramos had been a wannabe
hunter, probably didn’t even shoot that little buck. Who cares? The
grieving widow was ripe for the plucking, but for his
taste─overripe.

Arlette has other attributes. Her generosity
is boundless. Next to the lodge, her most endearing gift to date is
sharing her knowledge of Dr. Pedro Ara’s preservation process with
him. As his Spanish is deficient, he owes Arlette big-time for her
patient translation of Dr. Ara’s books.

How can he repay his benefactor? Not with
what she wants from him. In his opinion, it’s much too late for
that. He has to have something to work with, and Arlette is way
past her prime. No need to be cruel, is there? He smiles as the Ram
pickup continues its effortless ascent up the winding road toward
the lodge.
She’ll never have to know.

More good fortune: Arlette’s slow-moving M.S.
has reached the point where she can’t drive up to check on his
progress in converting the lodge to a wildlife museum. There had
been some close calls when she’d popped in unexpectedly and almost
come face-to-face with Brandi. The thrill of imminent discovery was
about as wild as it gets. But he can’t afford continued indulgence
in this brand of danger─the Brandi brand.

One wrinkle─he expects Arelette’s lawyer to
ask for some paperwork on the non-profit the Hunter is supposed to
be setting up. That could prove troublesome unless he gets himself
a new lawyer. Or stalls until Arlette no longer needs one. He’s
almost sure she’s left the lodge to him in her new will. Almost. As
long as there’s doubt, he must proceed with caution where she’s
concerned. He has yet to come up with a means to defuse her plan
for an artist colony in Brookvale. He’s the only artist the town
needs.

He parks the truck behind the lodge and sits
for a while, as he reviews his project debut─a bunch of hits on the
site. Now he knows there’s interest in his product. One of the hits
presents a problem he’ll have to fix. Soon.

It galls him to think of them as
product.
But one has to be practical. He smiles at the
realization: he’s one of the lucky few who loves his work─to
death.

Like strippers in a club, other applications
reveal themselves to him. Ones that mandate strictest confidence
from potential clients. If only he’d had this knowledge way back
when O.J. had his problems. There’d have been no mess, no
collateral damage, no trial. Just a beautifully-preserved trophy
wife. He can’t resist another chuckle here.

He wonders how many other celebrities would
pay big bucks for such a fix.

Time to check on his handiwork. He gets out
and slams the door of the Ram. As he mounts the log steps of the
two-story lodge, he shouts for all the trees and rocks to hear,
“Trisha, I’m home. Are you ready for me?”

Chapter 45

When Diana’s phone rang again, it was
morning. She was already awake, and had been since Rogart’s call.
An itchy-twitchy feeling plagued her. Accepting Rogart’s invitation
to drive up to a cabin he claimed was Joe’s didn’t seem quite
right. Brookvale wasn’t an all-night trip. She’d looked it up on
MapQuest. Just west of Evergreen. Maybe they’d find Trisha and
persuade her to come back and raise her child. But would that
really be a good thing?

Diana picked up the phone after the third
ring, hoping it was Rogart canceling out.

“Goddammit, Diana,” barked Jess. “When were
you going to call me back? What the fuck is going on?”

“Jess, ohmigod.” She’d completely forgotten
that she’d left Jess sitting on the hill above Rogart’s house. “I’m
so sorry.”

“I watched you leave Darren’s. I followed and
saw you almost get into a wreck on Santa Fe.”

“Why didn’t you call my cell?”

“I did. You didn’t pick up. I just got your
voice mail.”

Diana grabbed for her cell on the night
table, flipped it open. A frown puckered her brow. “It’s turned
off.”

“I guess you didn’t want to be disturbed.”
Bark turned to purr that was half-growl.

“I didn’t turn it off. At least, I don’t
remember… Maybe I did by accident.”

“I’d think the first thing you’d do after you
got out of there is call me.”

“Well, I didn’t,” replied Diana. Alarms were
going off, but she was squelching them. “A lot has happened.”

“So, tell me,” ordered Jess, her pissed-off
tone not easily dislodged.

“Trisha has run off again. She left the baby
with Darren. Somebody in a truck picked her up, but the kids didn’t
recognize the person…or didn’t see them…or…” Diana realized that
she’d failed to ask Darren a bunch of pertinent questions. She’d do
that on the way to the cabin.

“Did you see that there actually is a baby?”
asked Jess.

“Well, it could have been a recording of a
baby’s cries coming from behind a closed door.”
Ask a dumb
question and what do you expect?

“Diana!”

“Of course I saw a baby. Do you think I’m a
complete idiot?”

“You don’t really want me to answer that.
None of us is truly complete.”

Diana, sitting cross-legged on the bed, made
a face at the phone receiver, then continued in a quasi-normal
voice. “The last person Trisha called was Joe Flannigan. She left
her cell phone behind. What do you think about that?”

“I think if Flannigan had picked her up, the
kids would’ve recognized their own grandpa’s truck. What do
you
think about
that?
”

“He could easily have more than one vehicle.
Remember when we were tossing around the idea that he might have
another house somewhere?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you come up with anything?”

“Not yet.”

“Joe’s apparently got a cabin near Evergreen.
We’re checking it out tomorrow.”

“What do you mean
we
? I’m following up
on something else and it may take me a couple of days. Looks like
Darren is involved with a lady up in Evergreen. While I was waiting
for you, I was busy on my trusty laptop.”

“I meant
we
as in Darren and me.”

“Makes sense he would want to find Trisha
since he seems to be stuck with the kid. Why doesn’t he just call
Children’s Services?”

“He’s on the birth certificate as the
father.” Diana thought about sharing the rest, but the time didn’t
seem right.

“Birth certificate? How old is this kid? I
thought it was a newborn.”

“
She
. She is a newborn. Maybe a couple
of weeks.” Diana pictured Fawn’s tiny, plump body and rosy
cheeks.

“You don’t get a birth certificate in a
couple weeks, Diana. Even I know that. It takes a month to six
weeks. If there’s a birth certificate, that means the kid was
already born when Doubtful Darren was chowing down at your
place.”

Chapter 46

On the way from her scheduled court
appearance, Diana ran into Marge Lane in the corridor. Or rather,
Marge grabbed the sleeve of her suit jacket.

Diana, satisfied that she’d just done a good
job for her client, felt her adrenalin rush evaporate as the events
of the semi-sleepless night before weighed in on her. She’d been
about to pass Marge by, hadn’t even seen her before the tug on her
sleeve and the gravel voice in her ear.

“Diana, wait up.”

“Hey, Marge, just the person I wanted to
see.”

“You could’ve fooled me.” Marge cocked a
salt-and-pepper head and gave Diana an appraising look. “You look
bushed.”

“No kidding. Kind of a rough day yesterday,”
replied Diana, groping for a way to lead back into the Trisha
thing. She didn’t have to.

“Anything to do with that welfare check on
the kids in Franktown?”

“Well, now that you mention it…”

The women drifted slowly out onto the wide
porch of the courthouse where they found a quiet corner. Imposing
gray pillars sheltered them from the chill March air.

“You never did tell me what your connection
is,” reminded Marge as she slid into a black overcoat.

“It’s a long, convoluted story, Marge. But I
have reason to believe that the kids at the house lied about the
baby’s mom. She’s a missing teen from Custer County.”