Читать книгу Army Ranger Redemption - Carol Ericson - Страница 13

Chapter Four

“Dammit.” If Scarlett touched him or tried to help him, his humiliation would be complete.

She jerked back and pushed to her feet. She must’ve sensed the vibe coming off him.

“Why’d you turn off the porch light?” He rolled to his back and peered up at her wide eyes. “I’d forgotten those damned potted plants were there.”

“Yeah, sorry. It’s a habit for me to turn off that light when I come inside for the night.” She took another step up, reaching for the door behind her. “You okay?”

“I’m all right.” He hoisted up to his feet and brushed the dirt from his jeans.

“Maybe one of the deputies can give you a ride home.”

She wasn’t offering? He didn’t blame her, the way he’d snapped at her. Wasn’t her fault he had a gimp leg.

“I think I can make it.” He stomped his boots on the ground. “No permanent damage, or at least no more permanent damage.”

“Okay, then. Good night.” She slipped into her cabin and slammed the door.

That spark he’d felt between them had just been extinguished. The fall made her realize he was damaged goods. A woman like that needed a strong man to match her, not some physically weakened, brain-addled vet.

He trudged through the trees toward the deputies canvassing the crime scene, giving them a wide berth to avoid being questioned tonight. He couldn’t handle it right now.

Seeing Rusty Kelly’s dead body had been a shock. What was Rusty doing back here? That type always rode in packs. Did that mean the rest of them were close on his heels? Was it a coincidence that Rusty had turned up dead a week after Jim had arrived in Timberline?

He edged around the squad cars and took the long way back to his cabin by following the road. When he got back to his place, he withdrew his Glock and checked out the perimeter of the cabin.

Unlike Scarlett’s place, this cabin had a wide clearing around it that extended all the way to the road. He believed in having an unobstructed view of whatever was coming at him.

But he hadn’t seen Scarlett Easton coming at him. He’d noticed the smoke from her chimney since he’d been back, but he’d figured it was Gracie Butler living in her folks’ place. He hadn’t been prepared for a dark-haired beauty to hit him like a thunderbolt.

Scarlett had been something of a mystery in high school—a rebel but not a bad girl, lost both of her folks in a car accident. She’d never partied much unless it was on the rez, and she’d traveled with a pack of very protective guys from her tribe. That bunch wouldn’t have let him within two feet of Scarlett, but then they’d judged him based on his old man. He didn’t blame them.

Satisfied there were no strangers or, worse, people he knew lurking around the cabin, he went inside. He locked the door behind him and faced the room, his breath coming in short spurts.

Squeezing his eyes shut, he massaged his bad leg. It didn’t hurt him anymore, but sometimes it ached in remembrance.

He dragged in a deep breath, but it didn’t do any good. Even with his eyes closed, he could feel the room spinning, the darkness closing in on him.

He managed to make it to the couch, dragging his left leg behind him. Collapsing to the cushions, he ripped off his jacket and dropped it to the floor. He sank, his head in his hands, his fingers digging into his scalp.

The heat. He couldn’t take the heat. He yanked off his shirt and the T-shirt beneath it. He bunched them both into a ball and pressed it against his face to mop the sweat pouring from his brow.

Falling to his side on the couch, he let out a low moan. Then the images began flashing behind his closed lids. He drove his fists against his eyeballs to make the pictures in his head go away...but they kept coming.

He needed his medication. How had he thought he could do without it, especially in this place?

He needed a drink. He needed to sleep. He needed a warm body.

He needed Scarlett Easton.

* * *

“HE WAS KILLED somewhere else?” Scarlett cupped her hands around her mug of tea and inhaled the fragrant steam as it rose to meet the cool morning air. “I suppose that’s...a relief.”

Deputy Collins, from the county’s homicide division, nodded. “We’re thinking maybe someone stabbed him in a car or even before, and then loaded him up and dumped him out on the side of the road. There were some blood spots on the asphalt. Then he dragged himself through the woods. Maybe he was heading toward your cabin to get help.”

She shivered. “He didn’t have a cell phone on him?”

“No, and he didn’t have a wallet.”

“You haven’t identified him yet?” She laced her fingers around her cup.

“Not yet. The coroner’s doing an autopsy this morning, and we’ll get his prints and DNA. Nobody’s reporting anything yet—no missing persons, no accidents, no barroom fights.”

She didn’t know why she wasn’t telling this nice deputy all about the tattoo the dead man shared with Jim Kennedy. Why hadn’t Jim said something? Maybe he hadn’t seen the man’s tattoo emblazoned on his neck. But why did he have the same one?

How could that possibly be a coincidence? It had an L and a C. It’s not like it was the tattoo of a hula girl. It meant something.

She kicked the toe of her boot against the planter on the corner of her porch, the same one Jim had tripped over in the dark.

What had happened to his leg?

The man was as full of secrets as the boy had been—and just as dangerous. She’d been as drawn to him last night as she’d been in high school, but this time she’d sensed an answering spark of interest.

She hadn’t been alone in her feverish daydreams about Jim Kennedy during high school. Lots of the girls at school—even the popular ones—had whispered and giggled about Jim, but none of them, including her, would’ve been allowed to go out with him. He was every parent’s nightmare—long hair, motorcycles and a bad, bad family.

It had just been Jim, his older brother and their father. They all rode motorcycles, and the older brother and Slick had been hard drinkers and hard partyers. She had no idea what had happened to his mother.

Deputy Collins glanced at his notepad. “A Mr. Kennedy was with you when you discovered the body?”

“That’s right. He lives in the next cabin up the road.”

“Thanks for your help, Ms. Easton. We’ll contact you if there’s anything else or if we think you might be in some kind of danger.”

“Danger?” Her pulse jumped. “You mean if the man’s death was some random murder and there’s a killer on the loose?”

“I don’t think that’s the case. He looked like a rough customer, probably ran with a rough crowd. Once we ID him, we might be able to put your mind at ease. You probably don’t have anything to worry about.”

Yeah, except for her attraction to Jim Kennedy, who had the same tattoo as the dead man. That worried her.

“Well, I’ll be here if you have any more information for me.”

He tipped his hat, and the copse of trees ringing her property swallowed him up as he made his way to his car.

Through narrowed eyes, she watched him get into his car, the last of the emergency vehicles that had been out here all night.

If this rough customer had died in the woods beyond her cabin as a result of a fight, she had nothing to fear. She hadn’t seen anything. She couldn’t point the finger at his killer, and she didn’t know the dead man.

But if someone was running around Timberline stabbing people and dumping them on her property, then she had plenty to fear.

She snorted and took a gulp of lukewarm tea. Why would someone want to do that? She knew nothing about anything—no more dream quests for her, no more psychic mumbo jumbo, as her cousin Jason called it.

Except that she did know something. She knew Jim Kennedy and the dead man shared the same tattoo, and Jim hadn’t said a word about it to anybody.

She retreated to her cabin and slammed the door. She’d come back to Timberline to work, and she planned to keep her head down and do just that.

She didn’t have the time or energy to sort out a brooding war vet with trouble in his eyes and sin on his lips.

* * *

“IS THIS FOR your granny, Scarlett, or have you taken up knitting, too?”

Scarlett dropped the two skeins of yarn on the counter. “Me? Knit? You’ve gotta be kidding.”

Barbara, the owner of A Stitch in Time, rang up the yarn on her register. “You’re so artistic, you could probably do it.”

“Totally different kind of art, Barbara.”

“I like those pretty landscapes you do.” Barbara pursed her lips and stuffed the yarn into a bag.

Scarlett covered her smile with her hand. Barbara didn’t have to like her modern art—enough people did.

“Thanks, Barbara.”

“You know,” Barbara said, and shook her finger at Scarlett, “you should do some local crafts, like Vanessa Love does with those Libby Love frogs. Maybe something...Native American.”

“You mean like dream catchers and tom-toms?” Scarlett raised her brows. “Ah, no. I don’t do that kind of stuff.”

Reaching for her wallet, Scarlett glanced out the window just in time to see her cousin duck into Sutter’s Restaurant. “How much do I owe you, Barbara? I just saw Jason go into Sutter’s and I’m going to try to catch him.”

“That’ll be ten dollars and fifty cents. Your cousin is always at Sutter’s.” She cleared her throat. “Not that I’m spying out my window, mind you.”

“He’s dating a waitress there.” Scarlett put a ten on the counter and dug in her purse for two quarters. “Thanks, Barbara. You’re a lifesaver for finding that purple shade for me.”

“Anything for your granny, Scarlett.”

Scarlett tucked the bag beneath her arm and charged across the street to Sutter’s. Jason had been shirking his duty in checking up on Granny when Scarlett had been out of town and she planned to read him the riot act. He couldn’t dump all the responsibility on his sister, Annie.

The lunch crowd from Evergreen Software was thinning out, and Scarlett zeroed in on Jason lounging at the bar adjacent to the dining area. She waved off the hostess. “I’m going to the bar.”

She swung around to the side of the restaurant and snuck up behind Jason, tapping him on the shoulder. She grinned as he almost fell off the bar stool.

“Wow, cuz, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

She shook the yarn bag in his face. “It’s gonna be worse than that if you don’t start checking up on Granny more regularly.”

“She doesn’t want to see me. She’d rather see you and Annie.”

“That’s ridiculous and it doesn’t matter. She’s getting up there in age, and you need to check on her. You can’t leave that up all up to Annie. She’s busy with her new cleaning business.”

He shrugged, whipping his long hair back from his face. “Heard you found a dead body outside your place last night.”

“That’s a neat way to change the subject.” She perched on the stool next to him. “Yeah, some older guy—long, reddish-gray hair. I’d never seen him before.”

“And I thought your problems were over when that FBI agent killed Jordan Young.”

“Problems? The county sheriff’s department thinks someone dumped him on the road near my place and he made his way into the woods.” She folded her arms on the bar. “It’s not my problem.”

Chloe, Jason’s girlfriend, approached them, tucking a notepad into her apron. “Did they find out who the dead guy is yet?”

Scarlett rolled her eyes. “Does everyone know?”

“Of course.” Chloe snapped her gum. “It’s Timberline.”

Jason pinched Chloe’s hip. “I gotta go. Just popped in to say hi and, yes, I’ll check up on Granny more, Scarlett.”

“I’ll see you after work.” Chloe’s eyes widened as she stared past Jason’s shoulder. “Who is that?”

Scarlett jerked her head around just in time to meet Jim’s gaze across the dining room.

Jason growled. “He’s that racist SOB biker.”

Scarlett jabbed her cousin with her elbow. “Jim’s not like that. You’re talking about his father. What did happen to Slick Kennedy, anyway?”

“Someone killed him in Seattle a few years back...and nobody around here gave a damn.” He kicked Scarlett’s foot. “Shh. He’s coming this way.”

“Why’s he coming over here?” A slow blush spread across Chloe’s cheeks, and Jason gave his girlfriend a sharp look.

“H-he was with me last night when I found the body.”

Jason transferred his look from Chloe to her.

“I guess he has his dad’s place now. It’s down the road from mine.”

As Jason opened his mouth, Scarlett nudged the leg of his stool to shut him up.

“Are you okay? Did you get any sleep?” Jim studied her through dark-smudged eyes while running a hand through his messy hair.

“Looks like I got more than you.” She wanted to ask him if he’d injured himself falling off her porch, but he wouldn’t appreciate her concern—especially not in front of Jason and Chloe.

“I have a hard time sleeping in that place, dead body or no dead body.”

She tipped her head toward Jason. “This is my cousin, Jason Foster, and his girlfriend Chloe Rayman.”

Jim took Chloe’s hand and the girl looked ready to faint. Then he shook Jason’s hand, despite the once-over her cousin was giving him. “You know anyone interested in some old Harleys?”

Jason’s eyes lit up. “You selling?”

“I have a few bikes I’m looking to get rid of. Stop by any time if you want to have a look. I’ll give you a deal.”

“I’ll do that, man. Thanks.” Jason kissed Chloe on the side of the head. “Now I really have to get back to work.”

They said goodbye and Chloe scooted back to her abandoned tables with a flick of her hand.

“Do you mind?” Jim pushed out the stool next to her with his foot.

“Go ahead.” She grabbed a menu from behind the bar as if she’d planned to eat lunch here all along. “Was the rest of your night uneventful?”

His dark gaze drifted away from her face for a few seconds, and then he cleared his throat. “Yeah. You? Were the deputies there all night?”

“I think so. They were there when I went to bed, and a few were there this morning.”

“Any news?” He pointed to her menu. “You done with that?”

She slid it across to him. “Autopsy this morning, but I haven’t heard anything.”

The bartender dropped another menu in front of Scarlett. “Are you two ordering lunch?”

“I am. Give me a minute.” Jim ran his finger down the menu and looked at her over the top. “Burgers any good here?”

“You’re asking the wrong person. I’m a vegetarian.”

He peered down the bar. “They seem popular.”

When the bartender returned, Jim ordered a burger and fries, and she stuck to the vegetarian chili, her go-to meal at Sutter’s.

“Anything to drink?”

They both ordered water.

When the bartender placed their glasses in front of them, Scarlett followed a bead of moisture running down the outside of her glass with her fingertip. “I wanted to ask you if you were okay after...after your fall last night.”

His jaw hardened and a muscle ticked in the corner of his mouth. “The darkness, the excitement, threw me off balance. I usually don’t trip over my own feet, believe it or not. Spent enough time in physical therapy to avoid that.”

“What happened to your leg?” Taking a sip of water, she avoided his gaze. Would he lash out? Refuse to answer her?

“It broke in a few places and never healed properly.”

Okay, so he’d just be vague about it.

“Ouch. Sounds painful. I suppose it happened when you were...over there.”

“Uh-huh.” He gestured to the bartender. “Can you bring me some ketchup when you get a chance, please?”

She didn’t need a brick wall to fall on her to get the hint. Personal stuff—off-limits. “I sure hope the sheriff’s department can find out who this guy is and what happened to him—and if he had some kind of beef with his killer.”

“I’m sure they’ll be able to ID him soon, and most likely it wasn’t a random hit. You still need to upgrade the security on your place. Even if you believe you’re safe in Timberline, you might want to do a better job protecting your...art.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Did I detect a little sarcasm in your tone?”

“What? Not at all.” He rolled his water glass between his hands. “I like it.”

“The landscape art.”

“That, too, but the other stuff...” He shook his head. “Crazy intense.”

A warm glow settled in her belly. Usually she didn’t care what people thought about her art. She created her work from a personal, imaginative space inside her brain, and if she didn’t give expression to those thoughts, her head would explode. It had just been a side bonus that other people, including the art critics, had appreciated her abstract art and paid top dollar for it.

The fact that a man like Jim liked it, got it, made her feel like he got her, that he saw her.

She wanted to get him, too. She felt like she could if he’d let her.

“Veggie chili and Sutter’s burger.” The bartender dipped beneath the bar and gave them each a silverware setting wrapped in a cloth napkin.

Jim proceeded to drench everything in ketchup.

She pointed a spoon at his fries. “Have some fries with your ketchup.”

One corner of his mouth lifted, which was about the closest thing she’d seen to a smile from him.

“One of my many quirks.” He bit off the end of a French fry and asked, “Where do you live when you’re not spilling your guts on a canvas in Timberline?”

“San Francisco. I have a small place in the city that I share with another artist. When he’s gone, I’m usually there and when I’m here, he’s in the city.”

“Boyfriend?” He took a big bite of his burger.

“What? The artist?” She slipped a spoonful of chili in her mouth to hide her smile, happy that he’d been concerned enough to ask. “Marco is not my boyfriend.”

“I was gonna say, tough to have a relationship with someone you hardly see.”

“Tough to have a relationship with another artist. Marco and I had a thing once, but it was exhausting—and not in a good way.” She winked at him.

He raised one eyebrow and took another bite of his burger.

She zigzagged her spoon through the hot surface of her chili and watched the steam curl up. How had he gotten her to open up while he remained aloof and closemouthed?

“And you? Are you going to settle in Timberline or do you have a home somewhere else?”

“I don’t have a home, and I sure as hell don’t plan to stay in Timberline.”

“Are you here to sell your father’s place? I’m sure you know, ever since Evergreen Software moved in, housing prices have shot up.”

“I’ll probably sell it. Nothing but bad memories attached to the place.”

He offered nothing more. Where had he been since being discharged from the army? What was he doing in Timberline? And why did he have the same tattoo as a murder victim?

Jim dragged a napkin across his mouth and tapped her arm. “Incoming.”

She jerked her head to the side. “It’s Sheriff Musgrove. I guess he’s feeling better.”

“Is he new?”

“He’s new and lazy. More interested in fund-raising, but he’s been keeping a low profile lately, since he was good friends with Jordan Young.”

“Well, he’s making a beeline for us, so maybe he has some news from homicide.”

As the sheriff made a few stops on his way, Scarlett leaned close to Jim and whispered, “Does it look like everyone is reassured at what he’s telling them? Because I’m pretty sure they’re asking him about the murder.”

“Nobody’s screaming and fainting.”

Musgrove finally made it to them and positioned himself between their two bar stools. “Trouble just seems to follow you around, doesn’t it, Ms. Easton?”

“Me and you both.” Scarlett pushed away her bowl. “This is Jim Kennedy. He was with me last night when I stumbled across the body.”

The two men shook hands and Jim asked, “News about the murder?”

“Yeah, which is why I came over here when one of the deputies said he saw Ms. Easton at the bar. The fact that you’re here, too, is convenient, since I don’t have to go out to your place.”

“What’s the news?”

Musgrove smiled and waved at the bartender. “We identified the victim.”

Scarlett slid a glance at Jim. “Who is he?”

“Name’s Jeff Kelly, goes by the name of Rusty. He’s fifty-one years old and a member of the Lords of Chaos motorcycle gang.”

“Club.”

“Excuse me?” Musgrove cocked his head, his eyebrows colliding over his nose.

“They prefer to be called a club—the Lords of Chaos Motorcycle Club.”

“And how exactly do you know that, Kennedy?”

“Because I was a member—and I knew Rusty.”