“We need to talk, Bill.”

He folded his arms and glowered at her. “We have nothing to discuss.”

She kept her voice low. “I think we do. I remember when you were hunting Oscar Birch after he murdered his wife. I also found out that Oscar Birch recently escaped from prison.”

“You’re good at finding out facts. Must be an occupational hazard.”

“Here’s a fact that wasn’t in the research. Oscar’s the one who messed up your house, isn’t he?”

“Could be.”

She stepped closer to him, trying to capture his gaze with hers. “Bill … you’ve got to tell the police. You’ve got to get out of here.”

“The cops know. They’re after him.”

“They’ll catch him, surely.”

Bill shrugged. “Could be.”

She gaped. “You think they’ll catch him, don’t you?”

He stepped toward her. “I think that you need to stay away from here, from me, until this is all sorted out. I fixed your Jeep. Take it home and don’t come back.”

Buried Truth

Dana

Mentink

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Dear Reader,

I hope you have enjoyed this journey with Heather and Bill. Though they have both been grievously injured, they manage to come to terms with their pain and embrace the joy God has given them. We all have those wounds from people or circumstances in our past, don’t we, dear reader? Forgiveness is excruciatingly difficult to give at times. It is far easier to hold on to anger and bitterness. My wish is that all of us can experience the true joy of God’s forgiveness so that we can find our way closer to forgiving those who have wronged us.

Thank you for coming along with Bill and Heather on this journey through the Badlands. In the next book, Bill’s niece, Kelly, will face her own struggle to survive in the harsh wilderness of South Dakota. She, too, will come face-to-face with past injuries and present dangers that threaten to overwhelm her. I hope you will come along for her adventure, as well.

I always appreciate hearing from readers. Please feel free to contact me via my website at www.danamentink.com.

Sincerely,

Then Peter came and said to Him,

“Lord, how often shall my brother sin against me and

I forgive him? Up to seven times?”

Jesus said to him, “I do not say to you up to

seven times, but up to seventy times seven.”

—Matthew 18:21–22

To my mother who has been there

every step of the way for all four of her girls.

ONE

The heat shimmered up from the asphalt as Bill Cloudman drove the pickup, Tank barking enthusiastically in the back. It had taken eight months away from Rockvale for him to realize he’d actually missed the ferocious heat. After two days back home, he felt as if he’d never left. This small town, snuggled up next to the Eagle Rock reservation, was undeniably a part of him, as much as he’d tried to escape it. He eased off the road that led away from his aunt Jean’s dilapidated trailer, deep in reservation territory.

Aunt Jean was the reason he’d returned, her nasty fall the only thing that could draw him back to this place filled with bitter memories. Thankfully, she was recovering well, already back in her trailer making every guest feel welcome. Sharing a glass of iced tea and listening to her chatter had taken his mind off the past for a little while. Even though she was not his aunt by blood, he never thought of her as anything else. With her, he could pretend things were fine, that his sister, Leanne, was alive and they were a family, that his partner, Johnny Moon, hadn’t been murdered.

That game got him only so far. Leanne was dead. Johnny was dead. No amount of wishing would bring them back again. His tension increased as he drove away, losing himself in acres of sunbaked trees and dry grass that surrounded him.

He breathed deeply as he drove the five miles to the small home he’d left in the months following his partner’s death. It was remote, far from the nearest reservation neighbor, and he liked it like that. Working as a Tribal Ranger, one of twelve officers who protected life and property on the reservation and surrounding areas, he’d appreciated the distance sometimes, the quiet. It had been a sanctuary—until Johnny was killed. Then everywhere he looked he saw friends and neighbors who knew how he’d let his partner die. Bill had packed his bags and resolved never to come back—and he hadn’t, until Aunt Jean had her fall.

Bill exhaled slowly, trying to quell a sudden feeling of unease. The tingle of alarm grew stronger even before he crested the last ridge and his house came in sight. There was an unfamiliar tang in the air, an odor that caused Tank to growl as they crunched up the winding driveway.

Wrong.

Something was wrong.

He eased the truck to a stop, breath tight in his chest.

He got out and ordered Tank to stay. The dog barked his displeasure, but obeyed.

Broken glass littered the ground, blazing in the sunlight. All the front windows were fractured into bits except for sharp teeth of glass that remained stubbornly in the frames.

Vandals with nothing better to do. Teens, he told himself. Who else would cause such destruction?

Who else?

Muscles tight, he moved closer. A bucket of crimson paint had been thrown at the walls. It stained the stucco like the red spurt of blood. Angry, hateful.

The note was impaled to the wall by the blade of a knife, plunged to the hilt into the wood.

Coming for you.

It needed no signature.

Oscar Birch’s rage seeped through the scrawled letters.

Oscar, the man he had imprisoned.

The man who murdered his partner.

He didn’t know how Oscar had wrecked his place when the man was supposed to be in jail, but he might as well have signed his name in the vicious smears of paint.

Paint that was still wet.

“You’re not welcome here.”

Bill Cloudman knew it, felt it, long before he found himself on Charlie Moon’s gritty doormat two hours later. It had taken that long for his former colleagues to finish their investigation at his home and pass the information on to federal authorities. They told him the brutal truth with as much compassion as they could muster.

Oscar Birch had escaped.

The officers would try their best, but Bill knew with sickening certainty they would not capture the fugitive. Oscar was smart and wily and desired only one thing—Bill’s death. Oscar wouldn’t be captured or contained until he got what he was after.

Bill tried to focus on the hostile face of Johnny’s uncle. “I came to warn you.”

Charlie grunted. “Then you did what you set out to do.”

Bill suddenly felt every one of his forty-five years weighing him down as he stood on the front porch of the small house, the South Dakota sun scorching through him with unrelenting fire. “And I wanted to see how you were doing. And Tina.”

Charlie Moon raised a grizzled eyebrow. “Since you let her brother die?”

Bill exhaled. The words weren’t unexpected, but they cut deep anyway. “I loved Johnny like a son, you know that.”

“I don’t know any such thing. I only know you were my nephew’s senior officer. You were supposed to take care of him, watch his back.” Charlie shook his head. “He was so proud when he joined the Tribal Rangers. So proud to work for you.”

“I trained him the best way I knew how.” Bill felt the surge of frustration that caused his voice to edge up a notch. With an effort, he kept it level. “It was a bust gone bad. Oscar knew we were coming.”

Charlie’s calloused fingers gripped the door frame, the pressure turning his knuckles white through the natural tan of his skin. “Words. Just words. Johnny went in first, a nineteen-year-old rookie—he went in first and got blown up. Can you tell me any of that ain’t true?”

Bill looked at the red dust coating his boots. “No.”

“And can you stand there and say to me it wasn’t your fault? You’ve been a Tribal Ranger for what? Twenty years? And a rookie walks in after a fugitive first, without waiting for a backup team? That how it’s supposed to go, Bill?”

He could not answer against the thickening of his throat.

Charlie looked at him, lips in a tight line. “If you came back to Rockvale for forgiveness, you’re not going to find it here. Not with me. Maybe not from anybody.”

A six-year-old girl with a thick braid of black hair peeked past Charlie. “Hiya, Uncle Bill. Have you come back?”

Bill knelt and blinked back an unexpected wash of tears. “Hey there, Tina. I’ve missed you.”

“Me, too,” she said. “I got the birthday card you sent and I put the stickers on my lunch box. Where’s your dog?”

He nodded toward the massive rottweiler watching their every move from the back of the truck. “Right over there.”

“Can I play with him? I want to see if he’s learned to fetch.”

Bill was about to answer when Charlie pulled the girl back. “Mr. Cloudman is not your uncle and he’s leaving now. He can’t play with you anymore.”

Tina shot her uncle a puzzled look. “Never?”

Charlie nodded grimly. “Never.”

“Is it ‘cuz Johnny went to heaven?”

Charlie patted her shoulder. “We’ll talk about it later. Go back to your room and put your books in order.”

“But Uncle—”

“Go,” Charlie said, voice hard.

Tina’s face was puzzled as she wiggled her fingers at Bill before she disappeared into the house.

Bill straightened. “Is she … how is she doing?”

“Better than you’d think for someone who lost her mother to cancer and her big brother to murder. ‘Course, Johnny was more like her father, him being so much older and since her father took off before she was born. So all she’s got left is her old uncle Charlie and this piece of wasteland.” He gestured to the horizon, harsh cliffs painted against the setting sun. “How’s that gonna get her any kind of future?”

Images of a previous sunset flashed through Bill’s brain. The explosion, the ferocious hatred of the man bent on killing them. The ease with which Oscar Birch had been able to murder Bill’s partner. And now the murderer was back with a different target in his sights. Bill looked up to find Charlie staring at him.

“Heard you helped bust Oscar’s son near the Badlands.”

“Yeah.” He’d gone to assist his friend Logan to keep Oscar’s son, Autie, from killing a woman named Isabel Ling. They’d gotten Autie, all right, and remanded him into custody. In the process Logan had found his soul mate in the strong-willed Isabel. At least there was a silver lining—for Logan anyway. The guy deserved it. Charlie’s voice intruded on Bill’s thoughts.

“Heard Oscar’s son died.”

“Yes.” Autie had finally run out of luck. He’d made a break for it on his way to prison and been felled by a volley of police fire. Bill had felt nothing when he heard, no grief, no satisfaction; just the same numbness that had taken hold of him since the afternoon Johnny Moon was killed. He hooked his thumbs in his belt and let his gaze wander to his boots again.

Charlie’s laugh was harsh. “That’s justice, I guess. Oscar killed Johnny. You killed his kid. Now he knows something about my pain.”

Though Bill said nothing, he knew Charlie was wrong, dead wrong. Oscar was filled with hate and anger that sizzled hotter than the Dakota desert, an incendiary rage that would not be satisfied or dulled by grief. And he was here. He might even be watching right now. Bill felt a chill in spite of the heat.

A bark from the bed of the truck pulled Bill from his thoughts. He noticed the curtain move in the front window of the small house. Tina was still watching. He tried to make his expression more pleasant. “Anyway, I thought you should know Oscar’s escaped.”

The old man wiped a hand over his mouth. “Listen, I got enough problems. Not my job to help you catch him again.”

“I wasn’t asking for your help. I’m not a Tribal Ranger anymore. I just wanted to tell you and see if you or Tina needed anything.”

“She needs her big brother, but you can’t give her that, can you?”

The door swung shut, the sharp click loud in the stifling air.

Bill put his palm to the wood, warm from the late afternoon heat. If I could have that minute back, Johnny would be alive.

The curtain fluttered again and Tina’s little face peeked out. She mouthed something, a gap showing where she’d lost a tooth in the time he’d been away. Her expression so resembled her brother’s that he was momentarily frozen. He forced a smile and walked down the drive, the enormous mass of a child’s lost innocence weighing him down.

Heather Fernandes heaved a sigh. The guard at the entrance to the massive underground research facility, DUSEL, looked down at her, no expression on his stern face except for the slight uplift of one thick eyebrow.

She straightened, the steering wheel hot, since she’d turned off the air to prevent the Jeep from overheating. It was already making strange noises and she couldn’t afford a repair bill. “All I want to do is talk to Dr. Egan. I’ve called dozens of times and gotten no response. I’m a reporter with the Desert Blaze.”

She didn’t entirely blame Egan. In his position, she wouldn’t speak to reporters, either, especially not hacks for a local rag that was mostly filled with ads for used trucks and prickly pear jam. Egan was used to being interviewed by respected science magazines, like the kind she’d worked for in the past. “I used to write for Horizons in Science.”

His eyes flickered as he took in her beat-up Jeep. “And I used to guard Buckingham Palace. This is just my summer job.”

It wouldn’t do any good to prove she was telling the truth. She gritted her teeth and looked past him as the dying sunlight painted the distant cliffs. Somewhere, concealed by construction equipment and the dip and swell of brown-covered hills, was the deepest mine in North America. Only, now the goal was no longer hauling out gold, but building the finest Deep Underground Science and Engineering Laboratory in the world. The best of the best, the most cutting-edge science so close, yet it might as well be on the moon. “Here’s my number. Please have Dr. Egan call me.”

She snapped out her business card and reversed the Jeep, suspecting the guard was laughing as he returned to his air-conditioned post.

Laughing that a seasoned forty-three-year-old reporter was so easily defeated? Or amused that Heather actually claimed she had written for Horizons? She groaned. If it weren’t for the framed copies of long-ago articles, she might have believed it was a joke herself. Now she was reduced to writing a piece about some piddly fossil find and covering the local town events. She eased the Jeep down the road a couple of miles, rounded a corner and pulled over to the shoulder. Turning off the engine, she sipped some iced tea out of the thermos and considered. In years prior, her Horizons press pass had given her access to anybody, anywhere. The who’s who in the science world practically salivated for the chance to air their discoveries in the magazine.

She recalled a time when she thought Rockvale might even become a home to her. She remembered a trip a year and a half before to this town, when she and Bill Cloudman had struck up a friendship. Her cheeks warmed. More than a friendship, on her side anyway. But things had ended badly after six months. Very badly. Shame licked at her insides again.

She’d decided to return to her father’s house in this nowhere town a week ago only after she’d learned that Bill had gone, checked out from the world after the murder of his partner. Where was he now?

It was probably good for him to have left. Maybe he’d found a new life. She shifted uncomfortably on the seat, remembering the emotion that had shimmered in his dark eyes the day he’d arrested her. There might have been love there, but she’d seen only betrayal, the same kind of betrayal she’d lived with since her mother had walked away from Heather and her father when Heather was just a child. Walked away. The only written contact she’d ever made was that one brief note.

I read your lagerstätte article. Excellent and well researched. You should be proud. Mother

The insanity of it still boggled Heather. Her mother had chosen to break her silence and comment about some ancient set of fish fossils buried in remote Montana?

She’d wanted to scream at the injustice of it. What about me? Aren’t you interested in me? Your child?

But even more unsettling was how much Heather had been moved by that one word.

Proud.

Why should that one word coming from her mother, the stranger, the betrayer, the woman she should hate, mean so much?

Heather flopped her head back on the cracked vinyl. Would her mother be proud now? Proud despite her daughter’s battle with alcoholism? Losing her job and relationship in one fell swoop?

When she felt the despair creep up again, she grabbed hold of her lifeline.

God, thanks for giving me the strength to stay sober.

It wasn’t eloquent or lovely, but she figured God was used to her constant stream of thankfulness mixed in with regular pleas for help. True, she hadn’t gotten her job at Horizons back and there was no hope that she would ever understand her mother’s abandonment, but she was sober and God got all the credit for that gigantic achievement.

Restlessly she twisted her long mane of curls into a messy braid. It didn’t do much to cool her, but at least it kept her hands almost as busy as her mind. Her phone rang and she snatched it up. Maybe Dr. Egan had decided to speak with her after all.

“Good afternoon, Ms. Hernandes.”

The unfamiliar voice was gravelly and low, tinged with a slight drawl.

“Hello. Who am I speaking with?”

“A friend. I have a story you will be most interested in, I’m sure.”

She frowned and pressed the phone closer to hear.

“Who did you say you are?”

“I didn’t, but you will be hearing from me soon.”

“I don’t talk to people unless they identify themselves.” She tried for a strong tone, in spite of a tickle of unease in her stomach. “Who is this, please?”

A harsh laugh filled her ear. “We have not had the pleasure of meeting. Yet.”

She sat up straighter. “Identify yourself or I’m hanging up.”

“Such rudeness doesn’t become you.” More laughter. “And your braid does not flatter, Ms. Hernandes. You should keep your hair loose.”

The phone disconnected.

Her body erupted in prickles of fear. She cranked on the engine and locked the doors. Breath coming in panicky bursts, she careened off down the road. No one in the rearview. No one following behind. Should she call the police? Remembering her DWI arrest, she knew she did not want to have anything to do with law enforcement again.

Calm down. Think.

Who was the guy anyway? His voice was unfamiliar. Probably just a crank caller.

But he’d been watching her.

She took a deep breath, starting violently when the phone rang again. After another look in the rearview, she pulled over. This time she checked the number and kept the engine running. With trembling fingers she answered, relieved when her editor’s voice boomed over the line.

“Some vandalism up at Bill Cloudman’s property. Need you to check it out and write it up.”

At the mention of Bill’s name, Heather felt an odd tightening in her stomach. “Isn’t there anyone else who can do it?”

“Just one person and that’s you. Go take a picture before it gets dark. And add a bit to the webpage about it.”

“But …”

He’d already hung up.

Heather disconnected. Vandalism wasn’t exactly a riveting subject and Bill’s property had been abandoned so long it was the perfect target for teenagers with nothing else to do. It was also remote.

The stranger’s voice whispered through her memory.

We have not had the pleasure of meeting.

Yet.

She considered calling someone to go along with her, but there was no one she could think of. Steeling her spine and saying another quick prayer, she drove along, ignoring the now-familiar knocking from her engine.

Her phone remained silent for the rest of the drive. The road sloped upward, twining through stands of trees. Every small movement drew her attention, every dart of a lizard on the shoulder made her jump.

“It was just a crazy crank caller, Heather. Relax and do your job before you lose this one, too.”

As the miles ticked by, she realized for the first time how utterly remote this little corner of South Dakota was. Acres of dry grass and rock-strewn hills, with not a soul to be seen anywhere.

Gritting her teeth, she continued on.

When she finally pulled onto Bill’s property a half hour later, her mouth dropped open. She wasn’t sure which shocked her more, the bloodred paint defacing the house, or the sight of Bill Cloudman, his dark eyes filled with thunder, staring right at her.

TWO

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.

THREE

Heather left Bill to find his way and went directly to the back bedroom. Choo Choo rose stiffly, tail arcing like a pendulum, and trotted over. She sank to her knees. “Hey, boy.” She rubbed his face, muzzle gray-white against the black of his fur. “Were you scared from the gunshots? No more escaping. Let’s get you some food, huh?”

The dog gave her a lick and lumbered down the hallway. Bill looked up when they entered.

“Didn’t know you had a dog.”

“He’s new. Got him in Miami.”

Bill arched an eyebrow. “Doesn’t look new.”

“Okay, so he’s not exactly new.” She sailed past him into the kitchen and warmed some rice and chicken, which Choo Choo lapped eagerly. In truth, Choo Choo was supposedly twelve years old, according to the owner who’d kept him locked in a cement pen with no shade and sometimes no water. Heather would never admit to Bill or anyone else that she’d sold her television and paid the guy five hundred dollars to take possession of Choo Choo.

Choo Choo looked at Heather with filmy eyes as if he read her thoughts.

New or not, you’re worth every penny, sweetness.

Returning to the living room, she found Bill holding his shoulder with one hand and peering at a square of limestone with a delicate imprint of a fern, perched on a shelf.

“You into fossil collecting now?”

“No. That was my mother’s. I found a box of her things in the closet.”

She took a first aid kit off of the shelf and wet a towel. “Sit down and let’s get this over with.”

He looked at her, ink-black eyes expressionless. “It can wait.”

“I don’t want blood on my floor.”

He considered for a moment before he sat at the butcher-block table and peeled up his sleeve.

She hesitated and finally handed him the damp towel. No need to go all Florence Nightingale on a man who would rather be anywhere else. He took it and wiped the blood off his shoulder, then swabbed the wound with the antiseptic she provided.

She handed him a square of gauze, which he held in place while she taped it to his dusky skin. The muscles were hard and unyielding under her fingers.

Bill sat without complaint, his eyes examining the bookshelf next to the table and the picture of a serious woman with the same dark hair as Heather.

“Do you ever hear from her?” he asked softly.

Heather picked up the first aid supplies. “No.”

When she looked at him again, she saw the ghost of a smile on his mouth.

“Is something funny?” she asked. “A guy shoots at us, you get creamed with a shovel and something is funny?”

“Ironic, more like. You don’t like to answer questions, but you make a living prying into other people’s lives.”

Her cheeks warmed. “I make my living asking questions, not answering them. So here’s one for you. What is really going on? It seemed like you were expecting to find something entirely different than a fossil hunter. And I think you know perfectly well who vandalized your house, don’t you? Are you going to answer any of those questions?”

He sat back in the chair and pursed his lips in thought. After a moment he shook his head. “No.”

She groaned. Choo Choo scurried in, confusion in his filmy eyes. She called to him and rubbed his ears until he sank to the floor in a black mound of contentment. Bill had walled her off and she knew that she’d given him plenty of reason to do so. “You’re even more stubborn than you were before—” It was too late to undo the damage. Before Johnny was killed.

An almost imperceptible tightening of Bill’s lips made her realize she’d said exactly the wrong thing.

He didn’t reply and the silence extended into the uncomfortable zone. She squirmed in the chair trying to think of something to say to break the awkward quiet. A knock on the door startled her.

Captain Richmond stood on the step, his khaki uniform sweat stained and wrinkled. The bags under his eyes seemed to accentuate his droopy appearance. His mustache twitched as he spoke. Next to him was a dark-skinned man in a Tribal Ranger uniform. Heather recognized him as Al Crow, a friend of Bill’s.

“You called about a trespasser?” Richmond said.

“Heard the call. Thought I’d come, too,” Crow said.

She showed them in. Crow took in the sight of Bill and his bandaged arm, and his thick brows rose in concern.

“Okay there, man?”

Bill nodded and shook hands with him and Richmond. “Glad to see you.”

Richmond cleared his throat. “Yeah. Heard you were back. Thinking about signing on with Tribal Rangers again?”

Heather saw Bill’s gaze falter for a moment. “No.” Bill stood and rolled down his ruined sleeve. “I’m retired.”

Richmond nodded slowly. “So give us the rundown.”

Bill spoke, with a few interjected comments from Heather, while the officer scribbled in his battered notebook.

“Sounds like some kids,” Crow said. “They’re always looking for things to do. Doesn’t come across like a big deal to me.”

“I’ll take a better look in the morning,” Richmond said.

“I’ll come, too,” Crow put in.

“Not your jurisdiction, Ranger,” Bill said with a smile.

Crow held up his hands and laughed. “No problem to help out a badge brother.”

Richmond nodded. “Good night, Ms. Fernandes.” He turned to Bill and jerked his head toward the porch. Bill followed him and Crow outside.

Heather itched to know what they were talking about. As she casually walked by the window on her way to the kitchen, she could not see the expression on Bill’s face, but Richmond’s brows were drawn together, his face dead serious. Crow’s arms were folded across his barrel of a chest, his gaze fastened on his boots. Heather slid open the tiny window above the sink. No reason not to catch the cool night breeze. She washed her hands and put the kettle on to boil, straining to catch bits of the conversation. Still the two men talked, until Bill held up a hand and took a step away.

She caught Richmond’s parting words to Bill as the men walked into the darkness, the captain’s hand on Bill’s shoulder.

“Watch your back, Bill. We don’t want any more murders.”

Heather watched them go, the shrill cry of the kettle mingling with the strange worry deep in her gut.

Heather woke late the next morning to Choo Choo’s snoring. She padded to the kitchen, pondering all the while. Why was Bill Cloudman prowling properties at night? And why was she worried? Bill could take care of himself. Her instincts continued to prickle until she could stand it no longer. With toast in one hand, she picked up the phone with the other.

The clerical person at the Tribal Ranger office was coolly efficient.

“No, Bill Cloudman is not consulting with the Tribal Rangers.”

“Not even in an unofficial capacity?”

“No, ma’am.”

Heather disconnected and pulled up an archived article on her laptop about the Johnny Moon slaying.

Tribal Ranger John Moon was killed yesterday by a bomb reportedly rigged by suspected killer Oscar Birch, who was holed up in a cave just outside Badlands National Park. Upon entering the cave, Moon triggered an explosive attached to a trip wire and was killed instantly. Birch escaped, while Tribal Detective Bill Cloudman, who was also on scene, attempted to resuscitate Moon. Birch was later captured at a roadblock ten miles from the site of the incident and taken into custody.

The article went on with further details and a “no comment” from Bill Cloudman.

Heather sighed. Bill didn’t want to comment on anything as far as she was concerned. Whatever closeness she’d felt between them before her arrest was gone. Choo Choo finished his breakfast while Heather paced the small front room. Though Bill’s strange behavior continued to prey on her mind, she had more practical matters to attend to. Until she retrieved her car from Bill’s place and had it fixed, she was going to have to work from home.

It took only a moment to add a line to the “latest buzz” section of the Desert Blaze website about the vandalism at Bill’s place. Her editor wouldn’t be pleased that there was no accompanying photo, but hopefully it would appease Bill. She added another entry about the upcoming church pancake breakfast and signed off before focusing on the print articles that required her attention.

She needed to write a piece on a minor fossil find by week’s end. She’d put it off for a while because it was on Bill Cloudman’s adopted aunt Jean’s property. Heather had met the amazing woman before things fell apart, and deep down, she felt ashamed at having to face her. There was also the story about the abandoned uranium pit a resident had been complaining about for years. It had the smell of a real story about it. After a phone call to leave a message with the man who’d reported the uranium pit, Heather found her attention wandering again.

“A little fresh air couldn’t hurt.” Pocketing her phone, she grabbed the dog’s leash. “Let’s go for a walk, Choo.” They headed into the glare of morning sunlight. The summer heat still surprised her every day, even though she’d lived in South Dakota for a few years as a little girl. Maybe she’d been too preoccupied then, wondering if her mother, Margot, would embrace the new beginning her father had intended for them. She hadn’t, and Margot’s dissatisfaction with her life and her health had only worsened.

Heather wiped at her face. Not even noon, and the temperatures were scorching. Tattered clouds seemed to press the heat back down at her, taunting her with the promise of a cooling rain. As she passed her mailbox at the end of the drive, she saw a note wedged underneath the red flag.

From the cops? She didn’t think so. Maybe Dr. Egan had changed his mind about the lab article. Snatching it, she read the ink scrawl.

I’ll give you the real story on Bill Cloudman.

Her fingers turned to ice. The real story? She remembered the strange phone call from the day before.

Choo Choo pulled on the leash, so Heather stuffed the letter into her pocket and followed, but her mind was alive with questions. Who had written the message and what was his connection to Bill Cloudman?

It took a few minutes of walking before she worked her way to the other side of the issue. A stranger had been on her property again, someone not willing to sign the note and leave a contact number.

Her instincts prickled like exposed wires. She made up her mind to talk to the police, in spite of her reluctance to show her face at the station again.

She and Choo Choo stuck to the shaded perimeter of the trail that led from her house down toward the canyon where the ruckus had occurred the night before. There was no sign of movement now except for an eagle soaring in lazy circles above her. The rocks sloughed away in rivers of red and gold, dotted with clumps of needlegrass and the flicker of color from some late-blooming monkshood. Choo Choo nosed along as they walked and Heather found herself moving toward the old timber bridge that spanned a low spot in the canyon, connecting her property to Charlie Moon’s.

She stopped to pour some water from a bottle into her cupped palm for the dog, who slurped it up and gave her a lick on the cheek to boot before wagging his tail at a little girl who seemed to appear from nowhere. It took Heather a moment to identify the child as Tina Moon, Johnny Moon’s sister. Her dark hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, several thick strands that had escaped the elastic hanging in her eyes.

“Hiya,” she said. “You used to be Uncle Bill’s girlfriend.” She bent to pat Choo Choo.

Heather felt her cheeks go hot. “Oh, I, um, know Bill, yes. He, er, used to be a friend of mine.”

Tina shoved her hands into the pockets of her jean shorts. “Not anymore?”

Heather found the girl’s dark stare unnerving. “Have you seen your uncle Bill since he got back?”

“Uncle Charlie said Uncle Bill’s not my uncle anymore.” She sighed, fiddling with a compact she pulled from her pocket. Heather hid her smile as the girl looked into the tiny mirror and puckered her lips. Tina put the compact away and eyed Choo Choo. “Your dog is real slow. Not like Tank. Anyway, I gotta go. I’m not supposed to be playing here.”

“Why not?”

“Uncle Charlie said there’s a monster on the loose and he’d be real mad if he knew I was out here instead of inside playing. Bye.” She gave Choo Choo a final pat and trotted off, leaving Heather in a cloud of confusion.

A monster? Maybe it was a story Charlie told to keep Tina from wandering, but the few times Heather had seen Tina in the past, the child was always on her own as she meandered around the property and her guardian had never seemed to mind before.

Then again, things might have changed since Johnny was murdered.

She thought of Bill Cloudman’s strange behavior. He was preoccupied, closemouthed, as if he, too, was on the lookout for a monster.

On her way back over the bridge, she pulled out her satellite phone and accessed the internet, typing “Oscar Birch” in the search window. It took only a moment before her suspicion was confirmed.

In spite of the radiant heat, Heather went cold inside. Tina was right. There was a monster on the loose.

Bill stood in the relative cool of his front porch that afternoon, wiping oil off his hands from fixing Heather’s Jeep. Tank shifted uneasily at his feet, waiting for a ball to be thrown or the jangle of truck keys. He let out a bark, which elicited only a distracted look from his owner, lost in the memory of a long-ago sun-scorched day.

Then, too, he’d had the tight feeling in the pit of his stomach, a prickle of instinct that told him something was going to go wrong. On that afternoon there had been a similar cover of clouds that undulated across the sky. Difference was, he hadn’t been alone then. Johnny Moon was there, chatting away, eager as always for any kind of excitement, reminding Bill in some ways of Bill’s dead sister, Leanne.

“You got to let go sometimes, Sarge,” Johnny would say. “Live a little. Ask that fine reporter out. You know she’s got it bad for you.”

He smiled at the memory. He’d decided to follow his partner’s advice and ask Heather to dinner that same night. Yes, Johnny had been full to the brim with life, even though Bill sensed worry in his young partner in the months before his death. Something was distracting him, but it never for a moment took away his ebullience.

The trip wire did that.

A thin filament of death, set carefully in place by a man as lethal as a rattlesnake with a bite every bit as vicious.

Bill would go to his grave believing Oscar had known they were coming, planned the execution down to the last detail. Only, Oscar hadn’t known Johnny would cross it first.

And neither had Bill.

He sighed, watching a raccoon waddle down the thick bark of a pine tree on his way to forage. Tank jerked alert at the sound and took off running for the critter, which about-faced and climbed back up, hissing and snapping his displeasure at the dog.

Bill’s mind wandered back to Heather and her geriatric pet. The presence of a dog in her life amused him. She acted tough, but he’d seen glimmers of that soft spot in her before. He couldn’t reconcile the two opposites in his mind, so he stopped trying. It was one of the many things he’d probably never understand about her.

A dull ache was settling into his upper arm and he flexed his injured shoulder. Fixing the Jeep, after spending most of the morning cleaning up the broken glass, hadn’t helped the wound. Mopping up the paint had proved mostly futile, but he’d done what he could. The house was still smeared in ugly streaks of red.

He lingered there on the porch a long time, until the sun was high. He allowed himself to remember, for the briefest of moments, how much his sister, Leanne, had loved the sunshine. Years before, he might have summoned up a prayer for those he had lost, Leanne and Johnny. Instead he turned back inside the paint-spattered house to find his gun.

When the Glock was cleaned and oiled, he holstered it to his side, and after he fed Tank, they headed out onto the property. It was a sprawling ten acres of parched flatland, rolling hills and a spring, hidden by a thick cluster of pines. The smell of it soothed him—rusty earth, dry grass and heat. He’d been gone for so long, the ground had lost some of its familiarity. He needed to reacquaint himself, to relearn every dip, every hollow, every possible shaded nook that had grown over in the time he’d been away. His survival might depend on it.

Bill started hiking to the farthest edge of the property where it sloped downward into a dry wash. The boulders piled in crazy formations along the edge formed a labyrinth of rock and hence a myriad of hiding places. As far as he could tell by a careful examination, no one had been prowling there anytime recently. The dry soil was marked only by the curving slices of rattlesnake tracks and the scattered dry bones of a hare that had probably fallen victim to a coyote.

He continued upslope to the pine grove, a welcome cool against the sun that was hammering down mercilessly. Tank took advantage of the shade to stretch out and put his bony head on his paws. Here again, there was no sign that any trespassers had been present. Bill removed a pair of binoculars from his backpack and scanned the area below, his defaced cabin, tucked up against the side of a granite cliff, the flat area surrounding it and the distant cliffs standing like broad-chested sentries against the sky. Nothing out of the ordinary until Tank sat up abruptly, ears swiveling, body rigid.

“What do you hear, Tank?” Bill whispered.

Tank listened for another moment before he took off, bounding down the trail and disappearing into the trees. Bill followed as quickly as he dared, keeping to the shadows as much as possible.

His pulse pounded in his neck. Was it Oscar?

He stopped behind a fallen trunk and watched.

Tank was not visible but he heard a quick bark, just one, and then the property fell into silence again. Bill had seen Tank in attack mode before only a few times, one of which involved a massive, drunk dirt biker who’d caught Bill unawares and knocked him to the ground. The dog had leaped immediately into the fray and caught the biker’s biceps between his jaws, which clamped viselike until Bill scrambled to his feet and called off the animal in stern Lakota, the language in which he’d trained the dog. It had taken all of Bill’s powers of persuasion to convince Tank to let go of the whimpering bad guy.

Unfortunately, Tank’s impulsivity often got the better of his training. Had he gone after an animal? Or encountered a creature with much more deadly potential? Bill took a few deep breaths to relax his muscles before he slid the Glock from its holster and ran to the next tree.

Tank let out a whine. Bill couldn’t see the dog through the thick screen of towering pine. Inching closer, he took each footstep gently, easing his boots into the soft cover of pine needles.

Closer now. There was a small movement ahead. He took a breath and prepared to step around the wide trunk. Forcing himself to keep breathing, he did a slow count to three and charged.

FOUR

Heather screamed as Bill Cloudman suddenly leaped from behind a tree, gun in hand. Tina looked up from her kneeling position scratching Tank’s belly.

“Hiya, Uncle Bill.”

Bill’s face blanched slightly under the dark skin and he immediately pulled the gun behind his back. “Tina. What are you doing here?” He gave Heather an incredulous look. “Did you bring her?”

Heather swallowed hard and tried to find her voice, heart still hammering against her ribs. “No, I didn’t. I was on my way to talk to you and I found her walking a couple miles outside town. It didn’t seem safe to let her walk on the road alone, so I gave her a ride.”

She caught the question on his face. “I rode my dad’s old motorcycle. It’s parked over there in the shade.”

Bill looked from Heather to Tina. He got down on one knee and gently caught her chin on his finger until her gaze met his. “Did your uncle give you permission to come?”

Tina shrugged.

He raised an eyebrow, his face stern. “Tina?”

Tina shook her head. “Uncle Charlie doesn’t want me to talk to you anymore now that Johnny’s dead, but I wanted to come and see you and Tank. I liked it when we played fetch. I thought he could help me hunt for fossils. Look at this one.” She held up a curved bit of white that she fished from her pocket.

Heather saw a stain of emotion wash over Bill’s face before it was hidden behind his stoic mask. “Never mind that now. You should not have left without telling your uncle. He’s probably worried about you. Come back to the house and I’ll call him.”

Tina rose and Tank trotted at her heels as they returned to the cabin. Heather was unsure if she should tag along or not until Bill called over his shoulder, “Thanks for taking care of her.”

Heather took it as an invitation and scurried to catch up with him. “No problem. We need to talk, Bill.”

“No, we don’t.”

She bit back an impatient retort. Their past aside, she needed to confirm her terrible suspicion. “Yes, we do. I know what’s going on.”

He ignored her and quickened his pace. Heather was practically running by the time they reached his cabin. Tina scrambled inside after Tank, and Bill stopped abruptly on the porch. “Appreciate your help. I’ll handle things from here.”

She reached ahead of him and pulled the door closed. He turned on her, the muscles of his jaw twitching. She’d seen that intensity in him before and it made her shiver.

“I’ve got to take care of Tina now,” he said.

“No, you need to talk to me.”

He folded his arms and glowered at her. “We have nothing to discuss.”

She kept her voice low. “I think we do. I remember when you were hunting Oscar Birch after he murdered his wife.”

Bill stared at her, but didn’t answer.

She forced her way through the awkward silence. “Oscar killed Hazel and he was on the run.”

His jaw clenched, but he still did not speak.

“He was still at large when I … left.” She added softly, “And then he killed your partner.”

“Correct. That’s old news.” His eyes wandered over her face. “A lot of things have changed since you went away.”

She swallowed. “You helped capture Oscar’s son, who died on the way to prison.”

That comment elicited a blink from Bill. She pressed on. “I also found out that Oscar Birch recently escaped custody.”

He folded his arms. “You’re good at finding out facts. Must be an occupational hazard.”

“Here’s a fact that wasn’t in the research. Oscar’s the one who messed up your house, isn’t he?”

“Could be.”

She thought suddenly about the note on her mailbox, the strange phone call. A shiver of fear coursed through her body, leaving her cold. “Bill, I need the truth.”

“That’s something, isn’t it?” His eyes blazed. “You didn’t need anything from me a while back. Didn’t even need to return my messages. Now you come here needing the truth.”

She wanted to scream. “I’m not talking about you and me or what happened. I’m talking about right here and right now.” She stepped closer to him, trying to capture his gaze with hers. “Oscar blames you for the death of his son. Has he returned to Rockvale to kill you?”

Bill looked steadily at her this time, eyes black bright and glittering with an intense emotion. “I certainly hope so. Oscar hasn’t learned his lesson.”

Heather’s mouth fell open. “Bill … you’ve got to tell the police. You’ve got to get out of here.”

After a moment he turned abruptly and went into the house. She followed in a daze, watching while he poured two glasses of water and handed one to her. “Cops know. They’re after him. Local guys and the Feds.”

She took the water and gulped some down. “That’s good, then. They’ll catch him, surely.”

Bill drained his glass and set it on the table. “Could be.”

She gaped. “You think they’ll catch him, don’t you?”

He took the glass from her hand. “I think that you and Tina need to stay away from here, from me, until this is all sorted out. I fixed your Jeep. Take Tina home and don’t come back here. I’ll tell Charlie you’re on your way. I’ll bring your motorcycle back soon.”

“Bill …” She put a hand on his arm, but he pulled away. A flash of some emotion rippled across his face. Maybe it was the lingering hurt at the way she’d shut him out after the arrest. Perhaps it was the disappointment of having let his guard down with a woman who turned out to be an alcoholic.

Her eyes wandered over the tile counter, to a red-checkered cookbook, the same one she had jokingly given him before her disgrace.

You need to learn to cook, she’d said with a laugh.

Now that I’ve got someone to cook for besides the dog, maybe I will.

She remembered his laugh, the sparkle in his eyes. The sight of that cookbook brought back all the shameful choices she’d made, the ways she’d tried to hide her addiction from him.

She wanted to tell him about the phone call she’d received. About the note. But she saw the coldness in his eyes and the ferocious desire to avenge his partner’s death. Bill was right. She should stay out of his life.

She would go to the police and let them handle it.

“Tina,” she called to the girl, who was busily twining a thread around Tank’s collar. “Let’s go home. We can ride in my Jeep.”

Tina looked up. “I liked riding the motorcycle.”

“Me, too, but the Jeep will have to do this time. Come on. Uncle Bill wants us to go.”

Heather felt Bill’s eyes on her as she walked Tina outside, but she did not look back.

Once was enough.

Bill called Charlie and explained things.

“I told her she was to stay inside,” Charlie sputtered.

“She’s a kid. She made a mistake.”

Charlie hung up, leaving Bill to hope the little girl wouldn’t be punished too severely. This time he agreed with Charlie. With Oscar on the loose, it was better for everyone to stay away from him, including Tina.

And Heather.

He was surprised that seeing her brought up such a mess of feelings for him. He’d thought after losing Leanne, her and then Johnny, he didn’t have feelings left. He was wrong. His gut was a jumble of anger and longing. He pictured her brown eyes, remembered the feel of her hand on his arm.

Let go of that, Bill. Remember the anger. Feed it. And find Oscar.

He went outside and rolled Heather’s motorcycle into the back of his truck. The sooner he delivered it and severed all connection with her again, the better. His phone rang as he closed the tailgate.

The voice of Tribal Ranger Al Crow was heavy with excitement. “Bill? That you?”

“What’s up, Al?”

“I knew you’d want to be in on it. We got him.”

Bill’s gut tightened. “What?”

“Oscar. Got a tip he was holing up in an old camper by Swallow Cliffs. Moving in on him now. Want in?”

“Oh, yes,” Bill said. “I want in.”

Swallow Cliffs was the local nickname for acres of prairie grassland nestled up to a dry streambed that cut along the bottom of a cliff face. Spring rains would transform the area into a vigorous river, which provided plenty of bugs and fresh water for the hordes of swallows that nested in the cliff walls. Now, as Bill and the three other men watched through binoculars from behind a screen of shrubs, the only movement came from the sudden dive of a bird and the swish of dry grass tickled by the hot wind.

Next to Bill, Al Crow and Captain Richmond peered through binoculars. The camper perched crookedly in the grass was rusty, the windows obscured by blinds. Jim Rudley, the same federal investigator who had assisted in the manhunt for Oscar after Johnny’s death, held a phone to his ear. Crow shifted uneasily. “Could handle it ourselves.”

Richmond grunted. “He’s calling for the bomb squad, just in case this is an ambush.”

Both men shot a look at Bill. He could remember the blast so clearly, the one that had killed Johnny. The flash, the explosion that had made his ears ring. Holding his partner’s hand and begging him not to die. He forced a steady voice. “Who tipped us?”

“Reggie,” Crow said.

Reggie was a mechanic who did any odd job he could find on the Eagle Rock reservation. He’d proven to be a help to the Tribal Rangers on many occasions.

Crow continued. “Said kids were using the trailer for drinking and such a while back, so he keeps a close eye on it. Saw some tracks near the creek, saw a light last night and called it in to us this morning.”

Bill stared at the trailer. It had been there so long, on an abandoned stretch of land, he could no longer remember who had left it there. Nothing moved in the interior. Nothing that he could see, anyway.

Richmond and Crow stood next to him, hands on their guns, tense. He knew they felt the same mixture of anger and excitement that he did. If Oscar was in there, they could put away the guy who killed Johnny. This time for good.

Rudley clicked off his phone and nodded to Bill. “Explosives guys are on their way, but it will be a while.”

Bill looked again at the rusty trailer.

I’m coming for you.

Oscar was a twisted man, incapable of normal emotions, his troubles probably born of the days he lived with his mother and a steady stream of abusive men, according to the sketchy facts collected about his life. As far as Bill knew, Oscar loved only two things—his mother, who had passed away two decades before, and his son, Autie, now dead after trying to escape arrest.

It did not matter that it was not Bill’s finger on the trigger. In Oscar’s mind Bill had murdered his son. This was not about laws or justice. It was revenge, pure and simple, and Bill hungered for it just as much as Oscar.

The feeling shamed him. He knew what Aunt Jean would say.

Leave the judgment to the Lord, Bill.

Well, the Lord had abdicated the day he let Johnny get blown up.

Without a word, Bill drew his weapon and headed for the trailer.

Behind him he heard Crow gasp.

“Cloudman,” Rudley whispered. “Get back here.”

Keeping to the edge of the foliage as best he could, Bill crept on toward the trailer.

Rudley tried to catch him. “Don’t be stupid. You can’t fix what happened by getting yourself killed.”

But Bill had already left the shelter of the branches and begun running toward the trailer, head low and moving as fast as he dared.

He reached the trailer and plastered himself against the side, listening, the heat from the metal soaking into his skin. No sound. No movement. Edging closer to the tiny window, he noticed a gap in the blinds that would enable him to get a look inside.

Inching along, he saw in his peripheral vision that the other officers had moved in closer to provide backup. They were good men who would die trying to help him even though he was not one of them anymore.

No one is going in there but me.

He would not allow anyone else to die.

Pulling even with the window, he took a deep breath and popped his head up to get a look. All he saw was the darkened interior, no sign of anybody lying in wait.

He eased back to the front door, checking carefully on the ground for any signs that it was rigged to explode, though he knew his checking likely didn’t matter. Oscar was a genius with all things mechanical or explosive, so he wouldn’t leave any telltale signs if he’d wired the door.

Bill eyed the ramshackle structure again, noting another window on the far end, over the hitch. With the other officers closing in, Bill headed for it, climbing up on the tow hitch and risking another look inside. Still no sign of life. Resisting a sudden urge to pray, instead he turned his gun and brought the butt down on the glass.

It shattered, cascading in jagged shards down to the dusty ground. He didn’t wait any longer. Plunging feet first through the window, he hit the floor and crouched, gun ready.

But there was no one. Perfect silence except for the tinkle of the glass that continued to drop onto the worn linoleum floor. Oscar wasn’t here. Bill felt it even before he did a quick search of the small bedroom area and the even smaller bathroom. No one. The tip was wrong. He would not be bringing Oscar Birch down today.

Could be that Oscar had never even been here in the first place. Bill ground his teeth.

He heard shouts from outside.

“Cloudman?” Crow yelled.

Bill checked the door from the inside before opening it. “All clear.”

As the officers piled into the trailer, Bill’s eye was caught by an envelope lying on the kitchen table. He approached warily, but the envelope had not been rigged to explode. Bill slid the contents out.

“Cloudman,” Rudley snapped, face red with exertion and anger. “That was crazy. You endangered your life for nothing after I specifically ordered you to wait.”

Bill’s eyes locked on the photos in his hands.

Rudley spoke louder. “I guess you need reminding that you’re not an officer anymore. You got no badge and no business interfering. We informed you as a courtesy and you blew it.” He stepped forward. “Are you listening to me, Cloudman?”

But Bill was not listening. His fingers were suddenly cold, the icy feeling flowing up his arms and into his heart.

He shoved the photos back into the envelope. “We’ve got to find Heather. Now.”

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