Odd Man Out

She glared at him. “And just let the burglar have the cabin for the night?” No burglar or even a murderer was going to force her out of her home. And no man was going to start running her life—especially when that man was J. D. Garrison. “Guess again.”

J.D. let out a long sigh. “Then I’m coming out to the lake with you.” She started to argue but he stopped her. “If there’s no sign of trouble, I’ll just stay for a while.”

She relented, seeing how hard that concession was for him to make. Unfortunately he was right; it made sense that the cabin would be the next place the burglar would hit. “All right.”

J.D. held the door open for her. “I’m glad to see you’re not as impossibly stubborn as you used to be.”

She made a face at him as she swept past. “Don’t push your luck, Garrison.” She could hear his laugh as he walked to a pale green Ford pickup parked down the street.

Denver climbed into her Jeep and started the engine, thinking how funny life could be. Well, maybe not funny. No, not funny at all.

She made a U-turn and headed toward the lake. A few miles out of town, she glanced in the rearview mirror to see the lights of the pickup right behind her. J.D. was home. Just like in her dreams. Almost. It made her want to laugh. And cry.

* * *

“DAMMIT.” J.D. FOLLOWED Denny out of town, telling himself that it wasn’t seeing her again that had him in a tailspin. But he couldn’t get over his reaction to her. Or hers to him, he thought with a grimace. The woman he’d seen in Max’s office certainly wasn’t the girl who’d had a crush on him at sixteen. No, she’d definitely gotten over her infatuation with him.

He tried to concentrate on the problem at hand. The destruction to Max’s office and apartment had convinced him of just how much danger Denny was in. But not from Pete. J.D. just didn’t believe Pete capable of tearing apart a place like that—let alone murder.

And keeping Denny away from Pete was even more impossible than he’d first thought, now that he knew how Denny felt. About Pete. And about J. D. Garrison.

He smiled ruefully to himself. He’d hoped to charm her as a last resort. Ha. That would be like trying to charm a hungry grizzly bear away from a Big Mac.

As they neared the lake cabin, J.D. realized his only hope would be for Max’s killer to be found. And fast.

The lights from Denny’s cabin spilled from the windows and shot like laser beams through the pines. “Damn.” The burglar had already been there, he thought as he followed Denny up the narrow, snowy driveway.

What if the burglar was still in the cabin ransacking it? Denver slowed, and he knew she must be thinking the same thing. Her headlights lit up a vehicle parked at the edge of the driveway. J.D. stared at Pete’s black Chevy pickup. “Double damn.” He pulled in behind Denny.

Before he had a chance to get out, Denny walked back to talk to him. He rolled down his window.

“Pete’s here,” she said, resting her hands on the window frame. “There’s no reason for you to stay now. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

Right. “Then you won’t mind if I make sure.” He opened the pickup door, and with obvious reluctance, she stepped back.

“You should talk about stubborn,” she mumbled as they walked up to the cabin.

A slice of moon peeked through a break in the clouds and splashed the partially thawed lake with thin metallic light. In the crisp night air, he smelled pine and lake water and...smoke. He looked up to see smoke curling up from the chimney. “Looks like Pete built you a fire.”

She scowled. Clearly she hadn’t expected Pete to be here nor did she seem that happy about it.

“Looks like he made himself at home,” J.D. added, fighting a grin. He heard Denny mumbling under her breath.

The moment they entered the cabin, J.D. smelled peppermint. Denny looked puzzled by the scent, too, as she closed the door behind them. The cabin was as J.D. remembered it. The living room had a fireplace at the entrance and huge glass windows at the other end, looking out on Hebgen Lake. To the left was an adjoining kitchen and down the hall was a bath, small office and laundry room. Max had converted the laundry room into a darkroom before he gave the cabin to Denny, Maggie had told him. Upstairs were two bedrooms along with another bath.

J.D. was glad to see that the place hadn’t changed. He was even more delighted to see that it hadn’t been ransacked. In fact, everything appeared perfectly normal. Except maybe for the man-size pair of cowboy boots by the front door.

Denver called out a tentative hello. J.D. wasn’t sure what he expected. But it wasn’t Pete coming out of the kitchen in his stocking feet and carrying a teapot.

“Surprise!” Pete said, then stopped in his tracks as he spotted J.D.

“Surprise,” J.D. said. Pete hadn’t changed at all; he still had those boyish looks J.D. had always envied. Nor did he look like a murderer, standing there in one of Denny’s aprons holding that teapot. Feeling foolish for suspecting Pete, J.D. extended his hand to his former best friend. “How have you been?”

Pete didn’t move. Something J.D. couldn’t quite read flickered across his face. He quickly covered it with a smile and reached to take J.D.’s hand. “J. D. Garrison. Boy, has it been a long time.”

Out of the corner of his eye, J.D. saw Denny frown.

“I guess I should have made more tea?” Pete directed the question to Denny. There were already two cups and saucers on the coffee table in front of the fire. And a single red rose.

How touching, J.D. thought and growled softly to himself. “Yeah, let’s have some tea and catch up on old times.”

Pete didn’t look thrilled by the idea, to put it mildly.

“Not tonight,” Denver said. She motioned to the orderly state of the cabin and lowered her voice. “As you can see, I’m in good hands.”

“Yeah,” J.D. said, unable to come up with a reason not to go. Blurting out that Maggie thought Pete was a murderer didn’t seem like a great idea at the moment. And even if Pete were Jack the Ripper, it was doubtful he’d do anything to Denver with J.D. knowing he was there. “If you need me—”

“I have more than enough baby-sitters for one night, thank you.” She opened the door for him.

But he still didn’t want to leave her there alone with Pete. And not because of Maggie’s suspicions. He tried not to think of Pete and Denny in front of the fire, or the single red rose on the coffee table, as Denny closed the door in his face.

He stood for a moment in the dark, lost. The idea of sitting outside the cabin posting guard seemed ridiculous as well as emotionally painful. Denny was right; she didn’t need him. He stalked to his pickup, trying to remember something important he’d meant to do at Max’s office earlier. All he could see in his mind was that cozy little scene back at the cabin. What’s wrong with you, Garrison? You’re acting jealous as hell. He jerked open his pickup door. Jealous? What a laugh. But as he climbed into the cab, he couldn’t get Denny out of his mind. Or Pete’s damned little tea party for two.

That was when he recalled what had been so important. He’d spotted what looked like a wallet wedged behind the old radiator in Max’s apartment. He had started to work it out of the hole when he’d heard what he thought was the burglar returning. Later, when he’d looked up from the bathtub to find Denny standing there...well, he was just lucky he remembered his name.

He turned the pickup toward West Yellowstone and Max’s office, promising himself he’d be back within the hour to check on Denver. As he raced toward town, he realized he was humming the same tune over and over again as he drove. With a curse, he recognized the song—“Tea for Two.”

* * *

DENVER TURNED TO FIND Pete looking a little guilty as he set the pot on the coffee table by the two cups and saucers and the sugar bowl.

“So J.D.’s back, huh?” he asked. “Did he say how long he’s staying?”

Exhaustion pulled at her. All she really wanted was to go to bed and sleep.

“I know you said you wanted to be alone and I promise I won’t stay long.” He brightened. “I made tea.”

“Tea?” Max used to make her tea when she couldn’t sleep.

Pete sat down and proceeded to pour the tea. Denver had to stifle a smile as she took off her coat and hung it in the closet. The teapot appeared so small and fragile in his hands. She’d bet money this was the first tea he’d ever made.

“I mixed the spiced kind with some other one that sounded good,” Pete said, confirming her suspicions. It also explained the peppermint scent. He bent over, the spoon clicking against the china cup as he stirred.

“No sugar for me, please,” Denver said, feeling like the visitor. J.D. was right; Pete had certainly made himself at home. She could see that the laundry room door was ajar. She’d closed it before she left for the service, having souped some photos that morning to keep her mind off Max. What had Pete done? Searched every room to make sure Max’s killer wasn’t here waiting for her? It would have been funny, if he wasn’t so determined for her to stay out of Max’s murder investigation.

“Oh, a little sugar never hurt anyone,” he said, handing her the china cup and saucer, her treasured rose-patterned dishes Max had brought her back from Canada. “Anyway, I’m afraid I put sugar in them both. I hope you don’t mind.”

She didn’t have the heart not to drink the tea after he’d gone to so much trouble—sugar and all. Sitting down across from him, she said, “I looked for you at the party but you’d left.”

He grinned sheepishly. “I thought I’d come on out and surprise you. I remembered where Max hid his spare key so...here I am.”

Yes, here he was, even though she’d told him she wanted to be alone, she thought resentfully as she got a whiff of the strange brew. The last thing she wanted to do was drink it.

“Do you like it?” Pete asked, sounding hopeful.

The truth was she hadn’t even tried it. “It’s good.” She took a sip; it was too hot to taste, fortunately. The warmth seemed to take away some of the day’s pain. Max was gone. She’d have to learn to accept that. If only she could throw off the memory of J.D. in Max’s office. Max’s ransacked office. And J.D. grinning at her.

Realizing Pete was waiting for her to drink her tea before he left, she took another sip and burned her tongue. Exhaustion had numbed her muscles and made her feel as if she were sinking into the chair. All she really wanted to do was put this day behind her.

“So J.D. followed you home?” Pete asked.

She saw his jaw tense and remembered the animosity she’d felt between the two of them earlier. “He’s like you, worried I might be in some sort of danger.”

“Oh, really?”

The phone rang. Pete offered to get it, but Denver was only too anxious to have an excuse not to finish her tea. She put her cup down and went to answer it.

It was Taylor. “Denver?”

She smiled. He always sounded a little embarrassed.

“I was thinking about that trouble you had earlier with Cal. You’re all right out there, aren’t you?”

Another man worried about her. If only they’d just let her get some rest. “I’m fine,” she said, thinking how much Taylor reminded her of Max.

“I gave Cal a ride home but I was afraid he might decide to show up at your cabin. No trouble?”

Denver thought about Max’s ransacked office. And J.D. “What kind of trouble could I get in?” She laughed guiltily but didn’t want to mention either problem in front of Pete. “No trouble. Pete’s here with me.”

“Good.” He seemed to hesitate. “You know, if you need anything...”

“I know. I appreciate it.” She hung up the phone and returned to the coffee table but didn’t sit. Pete was in the kitchen washing the teapot. Denver thought of excusing herself, but decided it would be rude not to at least drink some of her tea.

Hurriedly she picked up the cup from the table and drank it down, trying not to gag. When she went to replace the cup in the saucer, though, she realized she’d finished Pete’s instead of her own. She was switching the cups when Pete came back into the room. Quickly she handed him the full cup.

“Who was that?” he asked.

“Taylor.”

He seemed annoyed that Max’s friend had interrupted their little tea party. “What did he want?”

“He was just checking on me.”

Pete frowned. “It seems I’m only one of a long line of men concerned about your welfare.”

She let that pass. “I think I’m going to call it a night,” she said with a wide yawn and a stretch.

Pete glanced at Denver’s empty cup on the coffee table and smiled. “I can take a hint.” He drank his; from the face he made, he didn’t like it any better than she had. “I’ll just throw a few more logs on the fire and make sure both doors are locked before I leave.”

Denver started up the spiral log stairs to her bedroom. “Good night, Mother Hen.”

Pete looked sad to see her go. “Good night, Denver. Sleep well.”

* * *

J.D. PARKED IN THE darkness of a lodgepole pine outside Max’s office. Denny had locked the front door, but thanks to the burglar, all he had to do was put his shoulder against the old door and it fell open. He took the stairs two at a time to Max’s apartment. Images of Denny in the middle of the mess made him smile. He rubbed the lump on his head in memory. Hadn’t he always known she’d grow into a beautiful, strong, determined woman with a helluva right-handed swing?

He went to the old radiator. Sure enough, there was something down there. He picked up a thin bent curtain rod and worked to pry what looked like a wallet from the radiator’s steel jaws.

The wallet tumbled out onto the floor. He picked it up and opened the worn leather. Max’s face looked up at him from a Montana driver’s license. J.D. thumbed through the rest of the contents. There was no doubt it was Max’s wallet. The question was: how did it get behind the radiator? J.D. shook his head, remembering what Max had been like. Absentminded about day-to-day things.

He took the wallet downstairs and dumped out the contents on Max’s desk. There wasn’t much—a few receipts, some business cards he’d picked up, Denny’s graduation photo, a yellowed, dog-eared photo of Denny and her parents, forty dollars in cash and a MasterCard.

J.D. stared at Denny’s photo for a moment, realizing how many years he’d missed by leaving. Then he looked at the picture of Denny and her parents. She couldn’t have been more than two at the time. Denny’s father, Timothy McCallahan wore his police uniform, and the threesome stood on the steps of the Billings Police Department. Timothy looked like Max, only younger. Denny had his grin. Her mother was the spitting image of Denny, the same auburn hair, same smattering of freckles and identical intense pale blue-green eyes.

J.D. stared at the happy family, unable to accept the fact that someone had killed Denver’s parents. Somehow Denny had escaped being hit in the gunfire. He hoped that same luck held for her now.

It took him a moment to realize what finding the wallet meant. Maggie’s strongest evidence against Pete was the photograph from Max’s wallet because she assumed Max had the wallet and the photo on him the day he was killed.

If the wallet was behind the radiator the day of the murder, then Pete didn’t get the photograph at the murder scene. But the fact that Pete even had the photo made him look suspicious. How had he gotten the photo and why had he taken it?

J.D. just hoped there might be a clue to Max’s murder among the receipts, scraps of paper and business cards as he stuck the wallet inside his jacket pocket. Maybe Denny could make some sense of it.

On the way out, he turned off the lights and closed the door. As he stepped into the darkness of the porch, he felt a chill on the back of his neck.

Denver.

A premonition swept over him. He had to get to her; she needed him. As he hurried across the porch, he caught the slight movement of something in the night. He turned, but too late. An object glistened in the streetlight for an instant, and then there was only pain and darkness.

Chapter Five

J.D. woke, cold and confused. He glanced around, surprised to find himself on Max’s office porch. He was even more surprised to find he was alive. His head ached and he couldn’t remember a thing. Except Denny. He could see the light in her auburn hair, hear the sweet sound of her voice. And...feel the lamp as she knocked him into the bathtub. He groaned. It was all starting to come back.

Rubbing the bump on the side of his head, he tried to get up. A wave of nausea hit him and forced him back down. Where was Denny now?

As he stumbled to his feet, bits and pieces of the night began to return, ending with him leaving Denver at the cabin with Pete. He swore—and reached into his coat. Max’s wallet was gone.

Except for his pickup parked at the curb, the street was empty. His watch read 3:52 a.m. Damn. One thing was for sure. Investigating Max’s murder was turning out to be more dangerous than he’d realized—than he was sure Denny realized. He had to protect her. He smiled at the humor in that; he wasn’t even doing a very good job of taking care of himself. But now more than ever, he feared for Denny’s safety.

As he headed for the lake cabin, he wished he could come up with a logical explanation for waking Denny and Pete at this time of the night. Instead he knew he was about to make a first-class fool of himself. At least it was something he was good at. But he had to make sure Denny was safe. A vague uneasiness in the pit of his stomach warned him she wasn’t.

* * *

IN THE DREAM, DENVER skipped through the bank door ahead of her parents, singing the song her mother had taught her. The words died on her lips; her feet faltered and stopped. Everyone inside the bank lay on the floor on their stomachs. A silence hung in the air that she only recognized as something wrong. As she turned and ran back to her parents, she saw the other uniformed policeman on the floor. Her father’s hand came down on her shoulder hard. He shoved her. She fell, sliding into the leg of an office desk. She heard her mother scream. Then the room exploded.

The phone rang.

Don’t answer it, her father said in the dream. He wore his police uniform and he was smiling at her. The phone rang again. Don’t answer it unless you want to know the truth. But as she looked at him she already knew—

Denver sat up, drenched with sweat. The phone rang again. For a moment, she couldn’t remember where she was. Then familiar objects took shape as her eyes adjusted to the dark. The phone rang again. She fumbled for it. “Hello?”

Silence. Heavy and dark as the night. The dream clung to her. Alive. Real.

“Hello?” Denver shivered. Just nerves. And that damned dream. “Is anyone there?”

“Denver McCallahan?” a voice whispered.

The dream had left her with an ominous feeling. She tried to shake it off. “Yes?”

“I have information about your uncle.”

“Who is this?” The voice sounded familiar. She sat up straighter and rubbed her hand over her face. The dream and the last remnants of sleep still hovered around her like a musical note suspended in the air. “You know something about Max’s murder?” Her head started to clear a little. It was just a crank call. “If you know anything, why haven’t you gone to Deputy Cline?”

The caller coughed. “You’ll know when you meet me at Horse Butte Lookout under the fire tower. But hurry.”

Now fully awake, Denver clutched the phone. “You can’t expect me to come to an abandoned fire tower now.” The voice sounded even more familiar; if only she could keep the person talking.

“Look, if he finds out I called you, I’m dead meat.” The caller sounded genuinely frightened. “The fire tower. Hurry. I won’t wait.”

“Please just tell me—”

But he’d already hung up.

“Damn.”

Denver stared at the receiver in her hand. Then at the clock beside her bed. It read 4:05 a.m. She hung up the phone and hurriedly pulled on warm clothes. The fear in the caller’s voice made her think he really might know who murdered Max. That hope ricocheted around in her head, forcing out everything else. If he really knew...

Denver opened her bedroom door and started down the stairs. Her heart thudded. Someone was downstairs. She listened, trying to recognize the noise floating up from the living room. It sounded like— Cautiously she crept down the stairs and stopped, staring in surprise.

The fire had burned down to smoldering embers. The warm sheen from the firebox radiated over the living room, bathing the sleeping Pete Williams in a reddish wash. Sprawled across the couch, Pete snored loudly.

Denver shook him gently; he didn’t stir. She tried again, a little more forcefully. He groaned and started snoring again. Well, she’d tried, she told herself as she covered him with the quilt from the back of the couch. She knew he would have tried to stop her from going, anyway.

Hastily she wrote him a note—“Gone to Horse Butte Fire Tower”—and propped it against his teacup. Trying to protect her must have worn him out, she thought with a laugh as she closed the front door behind her. Just as she reached her Jeep, an arm grabbed her from the darkness. Only someone’s hurried words stopped the scream on her lips.

“Take it easy, slugger,” J.D. said. “It’s only me. You don’t have a lamp with you, do you?”

“What are you doing?” Denver demanded in a hushed tone as he released her. “Trying to scare me to death a second time?” As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could see his pickup parked in the trees.

“I think the question is where are we going at this hour of the night? And why are we whispering?”

Denver planted her hands on her hips. “I thought you left.”

“I did.” He gave her an embarrassed shrug. “I came back. I had a feeling you might need me.”

She liked the sound of that. And, although she’d never admit it to him, she was glad he was there.

“Maybe I’m psychic when it comes to you.” He grinned. “Or maybe I just know you.”

She mugged a face at him. “Well, as you can see, I’m fine.” She reached for the Jeep’s door handle. J.D.’s gloved hand covered hers.

“‘Fine’ isn’t going for a drive at four in the morning, Denny. What’s going on?” He glanced at Pete’s pickup. “Where’s Pete?”

Out like a bad light bulb, she thought. “I don’t have time to argue—”

From inside the cabin, the phone rang. Denver started to run back to answer it in case it was her mysterious caller changing his mind. But it stopped on the third ring. Maybe it had been the caller, checking to see if she’d left yet.

She turned to find J.D. already in the Jeep. He grinned at her. Maybe it was the grin. Or the late hour. Or just plain common sense. She might need him when she got to the fire tower. But at that moment, she didn’t mind the idea of the two of them in the close confines of the Jeep together.

As Denver backed down the driveway and started up the narrow road through the pines, she realized she hadn’t thought about where her caller had phoned from. There was no telephone near the fire tower. She’d just assumed he was calling from West Yellowstone, but he wouldn’t be able to reach the tower quickly if he’d phoned from town. No, he either had to call from a private residence near the lake, or—

As she tore up the road, she remembered the phone booth at Rainbow Point Campground.

“Where exactly are we going in such a hurry?” J.D. asked. Denver smiled as she took a corner in a spray of snow, ice and gravel, and he fumbled to buckle up his seat belt.

“Horse Butte Fire Tower.”

His gaze warmed the side of her face. “Really?”

She’d made the mistake of kissing him at the tower the day he said he was leaving. She’d foolishly thought one kiss would change his mind. She shot him a look. “I can promise you you’re not going to get as lucky as you did the last time.” She couldn’t believe she’d said that.