Part 2 (1/2)
Pescoli looked up at him.
”Reports?” His eyebrows raised, a nonverbal reminder that there was work to be done that bugged the h.e.l.l out of her. ”The Haskins suicide? Amstead domestic dispute?”
”Both done,” Alvarez said.
”Good. E-mail them to me.” With a quick, sharp nod, he was off, boots ringing as he strode down the hall, probably searching for his next Red Bull or a spot where he could drop and do twenty quick push-ups. Just because he could.
”I can't stand that guy,” Pescoli said under her breath.
”I know,” Alvarez said. ”And he knows. For that matter, we all know.” Her dark eyes were without reproach, though, as if she silently agreed. ”Maybe you shouldn't make it so obvious.”
Pescoli didn't respond. She knew she was being b.i.t.c.hy, but she didn't really care.
”Try it,” Alvarez suggested, her professional mask slipping back into place. ”I'll catch you later.” She was out of Pescoli's office quickly.
Once more, Pescoli rolled her desk chair to the door and pushed it firmly shut, a practice that was new to her. Since Blackwater had grabbed the reins of the department, she felt she needed privacy, at least for now and the foreseeable future.
She wasn't kidding herself. Grayson, if he ever returned, was a long way off from regaining his rightful place as sheriff. She and the whole d.a.m.n office were stuck with Blackwater, the go-getter who let everyone know it.
”s.h.i.+t,” she whispered.
Grayson, forever with his black lab Sturgis at his heels, his Stetson squarely on his head, was soft-spoken and thoughtful, yet quietly firm. A tall, rangy man who looked more cowboy than lawman, a sheriff elected by the people of Pinewood County, his quiet command was effective. He had strong opinions and all h.e.l.l could break out when he was angry, but for the most part, he was in control and steady, a rock-solid force Pescoli could depend upon.
Blackwater was all action-fast-paced and guns blazing as if he had to prove himself. He made sure that everyone who worked for him knew he was an ex-Marine who had served two tours in Afghanistan. Pescoli had heard that he ran every morning, three miles minimum in all kinds of weather, and three days a week he spent hours in the gym, boxing and lifting weights to reduce his stress and stay in Marine-proud shape. At work, he downed Red Bull, Rock Star, or Monster energy drinks the way an alcoholic tossed back martinis. Part Native American, he appeared perpetually tanned, his eyes an intense brown bordering on black, his nearly six-foot physique all compact muscle.
Pescoli admitted to herself that he was handsome enough, if that mattered, with a slightly Roman nose that looked as if it had been broken at least once, bladed cheekbones, and black hair without a trace of gray, cut short, again, a reminder of his military background. Blackwater was smart, too, Pescoli allowed, and had the law degree to prove it. He attacked each problem head-on with the ferocity of a wounded bear, no excuses, and had already made it clear that he expected every member of his staff to do the same.
It wasn't his work ethic that got under her skin. It was his style that rankled. All his terse sentences, orders, and d.a.m.n meetings indicated that he'd come to not only play but to stay.
Pescoli had been toying with the idea of quitting, or at the very least, cutting back her hours to part-time, and her pregnancy had only reinforced her plans. However, there was that little matter of making sure Grayson's would-be a.s.sa.s.sin spent the rest of his life behind bars. She wasn't going to do anything until she was certain that son of a b.i.t.c.h never walked free again.
She'd have to suck it up for a while. Yes, the entire atmosphere in the department had changed and it bothered her, but so what? A lot bothered her these days.
Deal with it, she told herself as she clicked on her mouse and focused her attention on her e-mails. She sure as h.e.l.l didn't want to be late with any d.a.m.n reports.
Her life had become a pathetic good newsbad news joke, Jessica thought as she drove past the snow-crusted fields of a farm on the outskirts of Grizzly Falls.
The good news? She'd landed the job at the Midway Diner.
The bad news? Dan Grayson, the man she had thought just might be her savior, was in the hospital fighting for his life, so her plans to enlist his help would have to be put on hold. Indefinitely. Her spirits were low; she'd counted on the even-tempered sheriff's help. Her plans would have to change.
Taking a corner a little too fast, she felt her wheels slip on the icy road and eased off the gas. The tires gripped the road anew and her SUV straightened. The radio was blasting over the rumble of the engine and the clock on her dash indicated it was a few minutes after midnight.
Fiddling with the Chevy's finicky heater, she considered her options. With the temperature having dropped below freezing, the heater was blowing lukewarm air, its rattle nearly drowning out a country song about the pain of love lost that filled the interior. Snapping off the radio, she noticed the defroster was fighting a losing battle with the condensation that was crawling inward over her viewing angle. She gave the gla.s.s a swipe with an extra sweats.h.i.+rt that was lying on the pa.s.senger seat, and squinted, trying to find the turnoff to the long lane that wound to her cabin. ”Home,” she reminded herself.
Snowflakes danced, swirling as they were caught in the headlights' glare, piling along the fencerows and frosting the branches of the evergreens that rose in the foothills.
She could continue to lie low, retaining her disguise while keeping her ear to the ground, or she could bolt again, heading farther west or north. Or, she could seek her own revenge, try to turn the tables on the b.a.s.t.a.r.d from whom she was running, lure him in, and then destroy him. The thought of taking another human life had always repulsed her, but she'd never been so scared before, had never been fighting for her own existence. She'd always had the luxury of naivete. If she came face-to-face with him again, she had no doubt she could shoot him dead or plunge a knife deep into his black heart and give the blade a little twist.
”Sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d,” she whispered.
As the wipers of the old Tahoe slapped snow from the winds.h.i.+eld, leaving streaks upon the gla.s.s, she checked her rearview mirror for the hundredth time.
No one was following her.
No menacing pickup's headlights appeared over the last rise. Still, she could sense her pursuer.
Letting her breath out slowly, she noticed an old NO HUNTING sign posted on the ma.s.sive trunk of a giant hemlock that caught in the headlights. She was close. The engine groaned a little as the incline grew steeper, and less than a quarter mile up the hill, she spied the spot where the trees parted a bit and the old lane ambled off the county road. Of course, there were tracks from her Tahoe, enough to be visible despite the snowfall, but so far, he hadn't appeared.
Had she finally lost him?
Most likely not. Several months had pa.s.sed from the moment she'd stared up at the moon and gasped for air as she'd lain on the soft banks of the bayou. It was there she'd fought the battle of deciding whether to live or die.
Life had won out, and she'd started her journey of two thousand miles down a desperately crooked path that had finally ended up in the wilds of western Montana.
Was she safe?
She doubted it.
He was nothing if not dogged and deadly.
s.h.i.+vering a little, she nosed her Tahoe through the stands of hemlock and fir to the tiny clearing where her cabin, after a call to the owner, was finally equipped with electricity and hot water. There was still no furnace, but she'd picked up a used s.p.a.ce heater at a secondhand shop, along with a few other essentials.
House Beautiful the old cottage was not, but at least it was functioning, the utilities in the owner's name and billed to him. She parked near the garage, locked her SUV, and made her way inside where the smell of wood smoke and last night's microwave popcorn greeted her. On a makes.h.i.+ft coffee table was the local paper, where she'd first learned of the attack on Dan Grayson and his subsequent hospitalization. There was a new sheriff in town, if only temporarily, a man by the name of Hooper Blackwater who was rumored to be a strict, by-the-book officer of the law, a person she was pretty certain she couldn't approach.
So who, then, would help her?
The simple answer was Cade Grayson, Dan's brother, the man from whom she'd heard about the sheriff. But she wasn't about to go running to that rangy cowboy, at least not right away. Unfortunately, he was the man who had started all her trouble and as such would only be her last resort.
Chapter 3.
Troy Ryder rolled into Grizzly Falls, Montana on a wing and a prayer. His old Dodge truck was wheezing by the time he pulled into a service station and mini-mart where he filled up his tank, added antifreeze to the radiator, and bought a prewrapped ham and cheese sandwich, bag of chips, and two bottles of beer.
He'd spied a motel on his way into town, one of those long, low buildings with a shared porch, empty parking lot, and a sign proudly announcing FREE WI-FI AND CABLE TELEVISION right next to the VACANCY sign. Good enough. His back ached a bit, his stomach was growling, and he needed to settle in for at least a few hours to study the lay of the land and figure out if Anne-Marie had landed there.
It seemed unlikely, but then stranger things had happened.
h.e.l.l, didn't he know it?
He drove back to the motel. After locking his old pickup, he crossed the icy lot and pushed open a gla.s.s door to a small, brightly lit reception area that smelled of bitter, overcooked coffee and a hint of cigarette smoke. A second after he approached the counter, a heavyset woman of fifty or so appeared through an open doorway leading to the inner sanctum of the River View Motel. Wearing a uniform that was on the tight side, she took one look at Troy and smiled widely enough to show off a gold crown on one of her molars. ”What can I do ya for?”
”Lookin' for a room.”
”That we got. How many nights?”
”Just one to start with.” After all, he wasn't certain that Anne-Marie had stopped here. ”Then, we'll see.”