Читать книгу Buried Truth - Dana Mentink - Страница 9

Heather tried to plaster what she hoped was a professional look on her face. “I … I didn’t know you were here.”

“Didn’t see a need to alert the press.” His face was expressionless, but his eyes kindled with emotion. “Aunt Jean told me you moved back and got a job with the paper.” He looked away. “I guess you didn’t get any of my calls or emails.”

She felt a rush of shame. Maybe she should have handled things differently, but their last encounter was a messy tangle of humiliation and she’d wanted no part in reliving it then. Or now. Best to keep things professional. “I was told to come and write up the vandalism. Any ideas who messed up your property?”

He shook his head. “No, and I don’t want it in the paper.”

A big black dog charged out from the trees and raced over, immediately rolling over at Heather’s feet. She scratched his smooth belly. “Hello, Tank. Glad to be home?” She looked again at the garish paint. “It looks recent. Is somebody trying to tell you something?”

He folded his arms across his chest. “It’s not important. Don’t you have a bigger story to cover?”

A bigger story? She flushed. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. “No, I don’t.”

He blinked and looked away at the sun as it melted into the horizon. “There’s no story here,” he said in a softer tone.

As much as she wanted to get right back into her car and drive away, she knew she had to face this moment, to stand straight and hold on to the new, stronger person she’d become. “I think there is, and I’ve been assigned to write it up.” She took out her camera and aimed it at the paint.

He stepped in front of her, broad chest blocking her view.

She glared at him. “One picture?”

His lips tightened, but he didn’t move, muscled arms folded across his front.

“Thanks anyway.” She would not beg. She’d done that before and her own cowardly pleas still rang in her ears. If he would not cooperate, at least she could leave. She wrenched open the Jeep door and jammed the key in the ignition. It took a few moments before she realized the engine was not cooperating. After two more tries, she slammed a hand on the steering wheel. “Piece of junk,” she muttered.

Bill walked to her window. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

“No, thanks.” Riding next to him? Sitting beside the strong, silent man from whom she had run like a wounded animal? It was too much to bear. She shouldered her bag and got out. “I’ll walk.”

He sighed. “I’m going to have to follow you in the truck to make sure you get home, and it’s gonna take all night.”

“I can get home okay, Bill.” She felt flustered, embarrassed to be floundering in front of him, of all people. “I’m … I’m not the same person I was before.” She didn’t understand her need to tell him that she’d grown up, overcome her addiction. Most of all she hated the slight wobble in her own voice. Why should he believe her? Sometimes she didn’t even believe herself.

“It’s too long a walk and too remote an area.” He walked to his truck and opened the passenger side. “Get in.”

Forcing herself to take a breath, she tried to think rationally. He was right—it would take her hours to walk home and the strange phone call still bothered her. Surely she could handle sitting next to Bill Cloudman for the drive. It wasn’t as if the man would bore her with small talk. Just a few miles and it would be over. She looked into his dark eyes.

“All right,” she said. With as much dignity as she could muster, she got in. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Bill grunted and took off at a good pace, but twice she caught him peering in the rearview mirror.

“Looking for something?”

“No.”

“So you really have no idea who trashed your house?”

He gave a noncommittal shrug. She shot him a stealthy look. There was a sprinkling of silver in his dark hair and he looked tired, more tired than she’d ever seen him. His broad shoulders seemed to carry some tension. She had the sudden urge to speak, in spite of herself.

“I heard about Johnny. I’m sorry.”

He blinked and the corners of his mouth softened for a moment. “Thanks. Me, too.”

She should have called him, sent a note at least, but she hadn’t had the courage. Her own weakness pained her.

They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. She was again struck by how much had changed in the time they’d been apart. She remembered riding in that very seat beside him, exploring the incredible landscape—until everything fell apart. The pain and humiliation of their last meeting rose up as strong as ever.

She’d begged and pleaded. Just let me go. I promise I’ll never drive drunk again.

He’d looked at her with eyes full of tenderness as he’d arrested her anyway.

The thought made her squirm and the truck seemed to slow to a snail’s pace.

The sun set into a pool of fire as they drove back to Rock-vale, followed by the appearance of a sliver of moon in a shroud of clouds that hinted at a summer storm. He turned off the main road and eased the truck along a twisted gravel path that served as the driveway to her father’s house. Perched on ten acres of land, it would be his retirement getaway.

If he ever can retire, she thought, feeling an uncomfortable squeezing in her gut. She’d cost him so much and he’d bailed her out so many times at his own expense. Sonny Fernandes would never admit it, but saving his daughter by paying for a treatment program and legal fees had wiped out any chance that he could enjoy his golden years anytime soon. She felt the stab of guilt again as she pictured him supervising a construction crew building a bridge somewhere in California.

Soon, Heather. You’ll prove yourself again so you can pay him back. All she needed was a story that would lift her out of anonymity and, if she was patient, Dr. Egan might be just the source—if he would trust her enough to give her access to a lab story. Her editor would have to run it, even though it wasn’t her beat.

She sighed as they drove past a pile of tangled branches. In the meantime, she would work on fixing up her father’s place. Not a glamorous job, but a work of love.

Bill pulled to a stop and Heather grabbed at her bag. In her haste she upended the purse, spilling the contents onto the floor. With clumsy fingers she shoveled the things back in and practically ran for the porch, calling out as she went, “Thanks for the ride.”

She let herself into the house with a surge of relief. She’d made it through the trip without saying something stupid—or worse, crying. It was over. The scrabble of paws on the floor announced Choo Choo, a graying Labrador mix. He lumbered up and presented himself for petting.

“Hello, baby. Did you miss me?” She got him a small chunk of boiled chicken from the fridge, which wouldn’t be too hard on his old teeth, and kissed his head. “Mama needs a shower, Choo Choo. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”

She did her best to wash away thoughts of Bill and her sorry excuse for a career. Wrapped in a light robe and relaxed for what seemed like the first time that day, she padded barefoot into the kitchen for a glass of iced tea, gazing out the window into the darkened landscape. Her father’s property and that of his neighbor Charlie Moon were not actually on reservation land, but their acres mingled with Eagle Rock reservation in a seamless expanse of plateaus and gorges.

In the distant rocky canyon that divided her property from Moon’s, a light flicked on and off. She froze. Whoever was moving around had no business there, unless it was Charlie himself doing some night hiking.

Not likely, as he had a bum foot and a small child to take care of. It was impossible to tell if the intruder was actually on her property or Charlie’s, but one thing she knew for sure—whoever it was didn’t belong there.

She threw on some clothes, and grabbed her father’s rifle and a flashlight.

Choo Choo looked hopefully up at her.

“You need to stay here this time. I’ll be back soon,” she said, hurriedly pulling the door closed behind her.

Making her way as quickly as she could, sticking to the cover of the massive pines that clung to the rocks on either side of the canyon, she pushed forward, keeping the trespasser’s bobbing flashlight in view. Several times she had to stop and catch her breath, waiting for the gleam of light to show again.

Finally the light stopped and a softer, steadier glow took its place. A lantern. The intruder must have fixed on a spot to explore. She felt a sudden reckless anger surge through her. This place was entrusted to her, the only thing her father owned free and clear, and this person, whoever it was, was probably out looking for fossils to steal and sell on the black market. Or maybe it was some teens bent on finding a place to party. Didn’t matter. She was going to make sure they left and never came back.

“Hey, down there,” she yelled. Her voice rang through the quiet. “You’re trespassing on private property. You need to get out of here right now.”

The light was extinguished. She waited a moment to listen for the sounds of scuffling feet, but there were none. Flicking on her own flashlight, she beamed it down into the gorge.

A shot rang out, whistling past her head. She jerked back behind the tree for cover and readied her own weapon, heart hammering in her chest. Another shot sizzled by. From a crouched position she aimed the rifle high. Hopefully a warning shot would be enough to show the intruder who he was dealing with and convince him to leave.

She squeezed off a round. The report of the rifle deafened her. By the time she raised the weapon to fire again, a dark shape rose from behind the clump of nearby rocks and hurtled on top of her. The gun flew from her grasp and sailed through the air. She rolled and tumbled, the attacker still holding on to her. Her hair fell across her face and she couldn’t get a look at the man, but his arms were like iron straps as they held her fast. She felt a calloused palm over her mouth before she could suck in enough breath to scream.

“Quiet,” Bill Cloudman grunted in her face, “or whoever that is will kill us both.”

Bill kept his hand over her mouth until he was sure she wouldn’t scream and give their location away. When he eased his hand aside, he whispered a warning. “No more noise.”

He got to his feet, staying low behind a massive granite boulder, and tried to listen for sounds of movement. Heather scrambled up next to him.

“What are you doing here?” she whispered.

He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to her. “You dropped your phone in the truck. Came back to return it and I saw somebody on your property. Thought I’d check it out, until Annie Oakley came out with guns drawn and the shooting match started.”

“Hilarious, Bill.” She pressed closer to his back. “Who’s out there?”

He ignored the prickle on his neck where she spoke into his ear, the clean scent of shampoo that clung to her hair. “Not sure.” If it was Oscar, then it was time to settle things, and he didn’t want her anywhere close by. “I am going to go down there and see if whoever it was is holed up. Go back to the house and lock the door.”

She was about to answer when something streaked by their legs. “Choo Choo. Come back here,” she hissed. “I must not have closed the door all the way. I’ve got to get my dog.” She moved forward and he grabbed at her arm.

“Go inside.”

“I’m not going to let him get hurt.”

“It’s just a dog.”

She shook him off. “Like Tank is just a dog?”

He bit back a comment, wondering how she’d managed to best him already. She was smart, more than smart, a fact he’d known the moment she’d arrived in town the first time. He felt the warring desires to draw close and keep her at arm’s length. In the past, he’d struggled between the two compulsions, got right to the brink of letting down his defenses, and then he’d arrested her for drunk driving and that was the end of anything they might have had. Maybe someday he would be able to tell her why he hadn’t shown mercy in spite of her pleas. Someday. But right now was not the time.

Heather retrieved her rifle and moved along a ridge of rock before stopping to turn back to him.

Bill resisted the urge to hoist her over his shoulder and hog-tie her. Instead he hurried to catch up as she moved farther away. At least he could try to prevent her getting shot. If the shooter really was Oscar … He shook away the notion. Deal with the situation as you would any other, Cloudman.

He caught up with her when she stopped to peek over the top of a hunk of granite.

They stood silently, their breaths the only sound.

He strained to see any sign of movement or spark of light.

Nothing.

“They must have gone,” Heather whispered, her damp curls brushing his cheek. “Choo Choo is probably hiding around here somewhere.”

Bill shook his head. “I’m going to take the trail down to the bottom. Don’t follow or you might get hurt. If there’s trouble, call for help.”

“But what about …?”

“If your dog is down there, I’ll bring him back.” Without waiting for an answer, he drew his weapon and moved down the dark slope between two massive walls of stone. The strange insulating quality of being enveloped in rock awed him, as it had since he was a little boy, scrambling through South Dakota’s labyrinthine trails. He’d always felt most at home deep in some stone passage with no people nearby, yet still surrounded by the hidden crush of life that filled every pore of this place. His aunt Jean used to chuckle at him and say, “Why do you think God made those cliffs so high, Billy? Because He wanted you to look up.”

Tonight the isolation held a tone of menace. He slowed his pace, listening for the slightest noise or movement. The far-off whine of a coyote floated through the canyon, answered by a yowl from the other side. The gunshots hadn’t scared them away any more than had the locals’ determined efforts to dissuade them from eating their chickens. Coyotes were persistent.

He grimaced, thinking of someone else who fit that description. Crazy woman, almost got herself killed waving that rifle around. That bravado could be deadly. Didn’t she realize what she was walking into?

No, she didn’t. And he didn’t know for sure, either. Not until he got a visual.

Breath controlled, body inching along in painful slow motion, Bill pressed on.

He eased around another pinnacle of rock, feet as silent as he could make them on the red earth. He flicked on a pen-light. A partial shoe print caught his attention, pressed into the dry powder of the path. He bent to look closer. An athletic shoe, worn, from the look of the impression. The air seemed to thicken around him.

Farther along he caught a tire impression, small and narrow, blurred in the dirt along the trail. He waited until a cloud passed over the slice of moon before he moved closer.

Even as he crept around the corner, he knew he was not alone. Was it instinct or was his subconscious hearing what his ears could not? Didn’t matter. The feeling that had kept him alive for an entire career hummed in his body. He took a deep breath. “Give it up, whoever you are.”

The stillness was split by the sound of a dirt bike revving to life. Bill had time to press himself against the rock wall as a helmeted figure on the churning motorbike shot forward, gripping the handlebars with one hand and swinging a short-handled shovel with the other.

The shovel caught Bill in the shoulder, cutting through his shirt and into the muscle, spinning him off balance.

He rolled out of the way, tried to aim and found the bike already vanishing down the rock passage.

Pounding footsteps echoed through the canyon and Bill knew it was Heather before she ran into view.

Her mouth rounded into an O when she saw him. “Are you okay? Who was it? Did they hurt you? What happened?”

He straightened, a lance of pain arcing across his shoulder. “Too many questions.”

She huffed. “Well … take them in order, then. Are you okay?”

Pulling a hand away from his shoulder, he saw that his fingers were bloody. “Mostly. Good news is he got me with a shovel.”

“Who? How is that good news?”

“Wasn’t a gun and the shovel seems to indicate he was just a fossil hunter.”

“Just a fossil hunter?” She fisted her hands on her hips. “Last I heard, stealing fossils from private land is a crime and taking them from public land is a felony. And they shot at me, remember?”

“Shots were meant to scare you, not kill you.”

“Well, that’s comforting. At least I found Choo Choo. I put him back in the house.”

The exasperation on her face almost made him smile as he holstered his weapon. “Got to get a call in to the cops. You’re not on reservation property, but it wouldn’t hurt to let the Tribal Rangers know, too,” he said, taking out his phone as he started up the trail. She sighed loudly and fell in behind him.

“Bill,” Heather whispered, dogging his heels, “why do I get the feeling you aren’t telling me everything?”

He finished talking to dispatch and clipped the phone to his belt. “You heard every word of that call. Maybe your career makes you paranoid.”

“And maybe you’re trying to cover something up.” She squeezed in on the path next to him. “Why didn’t you want to talk about the vandalism?”

“Just didn’t.” He felt her eyes on him and he quickened his pace. “I’ll see you home. Captain Richmond will meet us there to take statements.”

He pushed on until they reached the small wood-sided cabin. He scanned the windows for any sign of movement, more out of habit than concern. Maybe Heather didn’t live alone; maybe she’d gotten married or something. He had to shake his head at that notion. Who would have the fortitude to try to corral an unpredictable creature like Heather? He’d come close, he’d thought, and that had ended in disaster. A vivid picture of his grandfather Mel sprang into his head, working with a massive wild mare crazed by a piece of barbed wire wrapped around her foreleg.

He’d stood there for hours, just watching, talking low and soft to that animal when she’d come close. Bill could still hear the frantic pounding of the hooves, the enormous body thrashing inches from his grandfather. The moment she went still, Grandpa Mel removed the wire with one swift snip of his cutters before he’d let her free to find her herd. The horse had looked at them both for one long moment before she thundered away and Bill thought he’d never seen anything so beautiful in his life. He wondered why looking at Heather brought up the old memory.

Heather pushed past Bill and opened the door. She left it ajar, so he figured she meant him to follow. Then again, she might just as easily slam the door in his face. Though he’d rather pull out his teeth one by one than admit it, the severing of their relationship had cut him to the core and now the disequilibrium he felt at having her near rolled around inside him. He stood uncertainly on the porch until she called from inside.

“Are you coming in, or what?”

Feeling as if he was about to step in front of Grandpa’s wild horse, he squared his shoulders and walked inside.