A war hero fights for what he lost long ago

The Timberline Trio was the cold case everyone in town was doomed to remember. Scarlett Easton may have just been a child then, but the fear it spread throughout the reservation haunts her to this day. Jim Kennedy ran off to war to escape this place, and has now returned to fight his own battle on the home front. And when that puts Scarlett in danger, both their loyalties will be tested. Finding themselves on opposite sides of a town that’s never recovered from the kidnappings decades ago, Jim and Scarlett discover that not only are their pasts forever tied together, but so are their futures...

The scream chilled his blood. It was the sound of a terrified woman—Scarlett.

Why had she stopped following him? Why had he let her?

“Scarlett?” He reversed course, staggering and tripping through the underbrush, cursing his bum leg. Cursing the men who’d caused it.

She screamed again, just as loudly but with a little less edge. His flashlight flickered on the path ahead of him as he charged back the way they’d come.

He plowed through the tree branches back onto the trail, which allowed him to move faster. “Scarlett?”

“I’m here, Jim.”

His light picked her out, crumpled on the ground at his feet, and he jerked to a halt. He grabbed onto a tree branch to stop himself from falling on top of her.

“What happened?”

She pointed into the underbrush beside her. “Call 911.”

Army Ranger Redemption

Carol Ericson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

CAROL ERICSON is a bestselling, award-winning author of more than forty books. She has an eerie fascination for true-crime stories, a love of film noir and a weakness for reality TV, all of which fuel her imagination to create her own tales of murder, mayhem and mystery. To find out more about Carol and her current projects, please visit her website at www.carolericson.com, “where romance flirts with danger.”

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CAST OF CHARACTERS

Scarlett Easton—A local artist and native Quileute, she’s a shaman in her tribe, but even these powers can’t help her when she discovers a dead body on her property and a damaged army vet who has secrets to spare.

Jim Kennedy—An army ranger vet who has returned home to Timberline to deal with all the ghosts in his past, but that past collides with his future when he meets a beautiful artist who has her own ghosts to face.

Dax Kennedy—Jim’s brother is an ex-con and a former member of the Lords of Chaos, a motorcycle gang that ruled the drug trade on the Washington Peninsula. Has he returned to Timberline to help his brother or drag him back into a life of crime?

Rusty Kelly—His death on Scarlett’s property is the first sign that Timberline has not shrugged off its past association with drug trafficking.

Chewy Teller—A member of the Lords of Chaos, he returns to Timberline to take care of some old business.

Danny Easton—Scarlett’s black-sheep uncle was in trouble with the law before; has he changed his ways or is he back to wreak more havoc?

Rocky Whitecotton—Expelled from the Quileute reservation for his criminal activity, his presence still casts a dark shadow over the residents of Timberline.

Evelyn Foster—Scarlett’s grandmother may know more than she’ll admit about the kidnappings from the past.

The Timberline Trio—Kayla Rush, Stevie Carson and Heather Brice were snatched from Timberline twenty-five years ago. The truth of their disappearance will rock Timberline.

For the water polo moms

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

Title Page

About the Author

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Dread thumped against Scarlett’s temples as she stepped out onto the porch of her cabin. Clouds rolled across the waxing crescent moon, teasing her as light and shadow played across the trees crowding up to her front door. Holding her breath, she hunched forward and squinted into the darkness until her eyes and muscles ached.

Since she couldn’t see a thing beyond the tree line, she tilted her head and listened to the sounds of the forest—a rustle of dried leaves, the snap of a twig, the soft coo of a nighthawk.

Had her mind been playing tricks on her when, from inside the cabin, she’d heard the strangled cry? It could’ve been a wounded animal who’d moved on in his pain and suffering.

She hadn’t been back in Washington one week from her art show in New York and already she was on edge. She no longer had to fear Jordan Young, the man who’d been harassing her. That FBI agent, Duke Harper, had shot him dead to protect Beth St. Regis.

The Timberline Sheriff’s Department had done a clean sweep of her property to make sure Young or his cohort hadn’t planted any more traps. She had no reason to be afraid in her own cabin, on her own land. But she was.

Even before she’d heard what sounded like a muffled scream tonight, she’d been uneasy since her return to Timberline. She couldn’t put her finger on the reason for the feeling, and had dismissed it as leftover angst from going into a dream state to help Beth sort out her own visions. Any time Scarlett used the extrasensory powers she’d inherited from her Quileute granny, it left her jumpy.

Cupping a hand around her mouth, she called out, “Hello? Anyone there?”

Not that she expected an answer, but it beat cowering on her porch. Only the wind responded as it whistled through the branches of the trees.

She huffed out a breath and backed up to her front door. She turned and glanced over her shoulder before stepping across the threshold and slamming the door behind her. The top dead bolt stuck as she tried to click it into place. After four tries, she gave up.

The dead bolt had been Granny’s idea, but Scarlett hadn’t used it in years. Now that she needed that extra layer of protection, the darned thing had rusted or jammed or whatever. She’d have to replace it.

She twitched the curtain back into place and returned to her chair in front of the fireplace, where a crackling blaze welcomed her. Five minutes later, with a book open in her lap and her legs curled beneath her, a loud knock on the front door disturbed the peace and set her heart racing again.

This time she went to the front door with a poker clutched in one hand and her cell phone in the other, even though she couldn’t get cell reception out here. She jumped as a louder knock resounded through the room. Another thing this door was missing was a peephole. Why hadn’t she gotten a peephole installed along with the dead bolt?

She shoved aside the curtain at the window next to the door and peered onto the porch. The light spilling onto the deck illuminated a large man. She swallowed and backed up, but the movement must’ve caught his eye and he pivoted toward the window.

“Are you okay in there?”

Sweeping aside the curtain, her cell phone prominently displayed, she asked, “Who are you? What do you want?”

“I’m Jim Kennedy. I have a place—” he waved behind him “—up the road. I heard a noise and came out to investigate. Was it you?”

Her muscles coiled. He sounded sincere, but it could all be a ploy to lure her outside and... “Jim Kennedy?”

“Yeah, my folks had this place before...before. The Butlers used to live here. Y-you’re not Gracie Butler, are you?”

Kennedy. She knew the name. She’d known the man, or at least the boy—a rough boy, a solitary boy. “The Butlers sold out and moved to Idaho, where Gracie and her husband settled.”

“So you’re a local?”

They couldn’t stand there yelling through the door all night. As she yanked it open, she had the fleeting thought that she’d known Wyatt Carson, too, and he’d turned out to be a psychopath.

The man before her stepped back, his eyes widening as if surprised she’d opened the door. Her gaze raked over his six-foot-something frame. He’d have nothing to fear from wandering around the forest at night.

“I’m Scarlett Easton.” She thrust out her hand. “I grew up on the rez, but went to Timberline High. You were in my geometry class.”

He blinked and heat rushed to her cheeks. Why in the world had she brought that up? She only remembered because she used to copy off his paper sometimes—not because she’d been intrigued by the loner who had a shock of black hair always falling in his eyes and rode a motorcycle.

She cleared her throat. “Mr. Stivers? Sophomore year?”

“Scarlett, yeah. You used to copy my answers all the time.”

Her lips twisted into a smile. “Once in a while. Do you want to come in? I heard a noise, too. A scream, or...something.”

“Sure.”

She widened the door and stepped to the side as he limped over the threshold. She averted her gaze. The limp was new unless he’d just injured himself.

“Did you see anything out there?” The wind gusted as she shut the door, snatching it from her hand and slamming it.

Jim took a turn around the room with his halting gait, running his fingers along a table carved from a log, brushing his knuckles across a hand-painted pillow and studying the watercolor landscapes on the wall. “It’s like a museum in here.”

“Some of the pieces are for sale if you’re interested.”

Snapping his fingers, he said, “You were into all those art classes at school. You got suspended for painting a Native American mural on the wall outside the gym.”

“Some of my best work.”

He leaned forward to study a small painting of a storm-swept Washington coast. “Did you go outside right after you heard the noise?”

“I didn’t say I went outside.” She swallowed and took a step back to the door, curling her fingers around the knob.

“I heard a door slam.” He straightened up and shoved his hands in the pockets of his black jeans. “I figured it had to be the door to this cabin since there aren’t many others around here, are there?”

“N-no.” Did he have to remind her about the isolation of their cabins? And how had he heard her door from a mile away? Since she’d bought this place, the Kennedy cabin had stood empty, but she knew it was a good distance away. She ran her tongue along her lower lip. “Let me get this straight. You heard a scream from inside your cabin, went outside to investigate and then heard my front door slam?”

“No.” He moved in front of the fireplace, and a log rolled off the grate, causing a shower of sparks. “Do you have a poker?”

She reached behind her for the weapon she’d brought to the door for protection and grabbed it. If Jim Kennedy tried anything funny, she had no problem using the business end of this poker on him.

What was the business end of a poker?

He narrowed his dark eyes and they glittered behind half-mast lids. “I was already outside taking a walk when I heard the noise. I took off in the general direction of it, didn’t hear anything else until the sound of a door shutting. I knew the Butler cabin was out this way, so I came over to investigate.”

Rolling her shoulders, she strode forward with the poker in front of her and handed it to him—point first.

He took it around the middle and then prodded the log back into place, where it lit up in a quick blaze. “So, did you go outside after you heard the scream or just open your front door?”

“I stepped outside, but I didn’t hear anything else, either. I’m thinking it might’ve been a wounded animal, and either it died or took off.”

“Maybe. It sounded—” he shrugged “—familiar.”

She thought he was going to say human, because that’s what it sounded like to her.

“It gave me the chills.” She held her hands out to the warmth of the fire, and the flickering flames caught the light from the many rings she wore on her fingers, creating a light show on the wall.

“I’ll let you get back to your book.” He tipped his chin at the book she’d left open on the recliner. “When I saw the lights on, I just wanted to make sure you were okay in here.”

“Thanks.” She led him to the front door and opened it wide for him to pass through. As he crossed the threshold, she inhaled his woodsy, masculine scent. On impulse, she touched his arm.

“Where’ve you been all these years, Jim Kennedy?”

He turned, brushing a lock of black hair from his face, and for the first time she noticed a scar across his forehead.

“Here and there.”

She stood at the door watching him as he walked down the two steps with his halting gait. Just as she was about to close the door, a howl rose from the forest, causing a ripple of fear to skim across her flesh.

“It sounds closer here.” Jim took off with surprising speed, and Scarlett followed him.

“Wait for me.” She grabbed on to his leather jacket, stumbling against his broad back.

“Hey, who’s out here?” Jim crashed through the branches of the trees as he illuminated the ground in front of him with a flashlight he’d pulled from his pocket.

He’d obviously come prepared, and then she saw the gun in his other hand. Prepared for what? She released her hold on him, and he continued forward, thrashing his way through the foliage, off the designated trail.

She staggered backward, twisting her fingers in front of her. What was Jim really doing out here and why did he have a gun? She knew hunting weapons, and that gun wasn’t intended for use against some hapless deer.

As Jim called out again, she found her footing on the cleared path. She should make her way to the cabin and lock herself inside. This time she wouldn’t open the door for anyone—former high school classmate or not. Jim Kennedy could take his sexy self back to here and there.

Tapping the light for her cell phone, she pivoted on the toes of her sneakers and took a step forward.

Then a hand grabbed her ankle.

Chapter Two

The scream chilled his blood. It was the sound of a terrified woman—Scarlett.

Why had she stopped following him? Why had he let her?

“Scarlett?” He reversed course, staggering and tripping through the underbrush, cursing his bum leg. Cursing the men who’d caused it.

She screamed again, just as loudly but with a little less edge. His flashlight flickered on the path ahead of him as he charged back the way they’d come.

He plowed through the tree branches back onto the trail, which allowed him to move faster. “Scarlett?”

“I’m here, Jim.”

His light picked her out, crumpled on the ground at his feet, and he jerked to a halt. He grabbed on to a tree branch to stop himself from falling on top of her.

“What happened?”

She pointed into the underbrush beside her. “There. It’s a man. H-he’s injured or...”

Jim crouched beside her and aimed his flashlight at the bushes, where it illuminated an outstretched arm, hand fisted into the dirt.

He pushed aside the foliage that covered the man and reached out with two fingers to feel the pulse at his throat.

“He’s dead. How did you even see him there without a light?”

She gasped, covering her mouth. “He grabbed my ankle. Are you sure he’s dead?”

“What?” He scooped aside more of the underbrush and flattened his palm against the man’s chest. Blood seeped through his shirt, moistening Jim’s hand with its stickiness. He bent forward, putting his ear close to the man’s nose and mouth.

“Call 911.”

“I can’t get reception out here. I’ll have to at least walk down the access road to the front.”

He gestured to the man’s body. “He’s dead. He’s not going anywhere. I’ll come with you.”

“What happened to him?” She clambered to her knees, and he held out the hand that didn’t have blood on it.

“He has a chest wound. I can’t tell what did it, but he lost a lot of blood. I’m surprised he had the strength to reach out and grab you, or even the wherewithal to realize anyone was passing.”

She grabbed his hand, and he pulled her up beside him, where he could smell her musky-sweet scent.

“He must’ve been the one moaning out here. Maybe he lost consciousness and then came to when we passed him. He reached out to me as a last-ditch effort.” She bent her leg at the knee and rubbed her ankle.

“Let’s go.” He tugged on her hand to get her away from the dead guy in the bushes. “From the looks of the blood pumping out of his chest, he was fast on his way out and wouldn’t have survived even if we had discovered him when he was moaning.”

As they burst onto the access road, he aimed his light at the ground and hurried across the gravel and dirt, practically dragging Scarlett behind him as she kept trying her phone.

He didn’t want to run into whatever...or whoever that man had encountered.

When they reached Scarlett’s mailbox on the road, she nudged his arm. “Got it.”

“Let me report it.” He took the phone from her and spoke to the emergency operator, giving her what he could. When he finished the call, he dropped the phone back into Scarlett’s palm.

She asked, “Did you see his face? Do you know him?”

“I didn’t get a good look at his face, but I doubt I know him. It’s been a while since I’ve been back to Timberline.” He held out his hand in front of him and lit it up with the beam from his flashlight. “I got his blood on my hand, though.”

“Ugh. Do you want me to get a towel while we wait for the cops? I have paper towels in my car.”

“I’ll leave it until the sheriff’s department can have a look at it.” He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “What happened back there? Why’d you stop following me?”

“I—” Her eyes darted to his pocket where he’d stashed his weapon. “I didn’t want to go any deeper in the forest.”

Especially in the company of a man with a gun—a man she’d just met even though they’d been high school classmates years ago. Smart girl.

“And then the guy just grabbed your ankle? Hard?”

“Not that hard but enough to surprise me and trip me up.”

“When did you realize he was hurt?”

“I kicked out when I fell, to loosen his hold. I’d already had my cell phone out for the light. When I was on the ground, the little beam of light illuminated his hand, and I could see that it was limp. His arm wasn’t moving, but I screamed again just in case.”

“I heard you, loud and clear—both times. You didn’t see his face?”

“I wanted to run the hell out of there, but I couldn’t move. My muscles froze. I certainly didn’t want to look at him. Did you see his face?”

“Nope.” He shook his head. “Maybe you know him. Maybe he was a friend on his way to visit you.”

“Me?” Her dark brows shot up. “I don’t think so. The only people who come out here to visit me are my cousins, Jason and Annie. And that wasn’t Jason’s hand.”

“We’ll find out who he is soon enough.” He held up one finger. “Sirens.”

The revolving lights on top of the emergency vehicles cast an eerie glow in the misty air as they flew down the small road to Scarlett’s cabin.

Jim waved the flashlight in the air to flag them down.

The vehicles—one ambulance, one fire truck and a squad car—squealed to a stop in front of Scarlett’s mailbox.

Jogging next to the squad car, Jim knocked on the passenger window, and the deputy buzzed it down. “You can go up the access road. The body’s in the woods, just off the trail.”

The deputy gestured out his window for the ambulance to make the turn onto the access road, and then he followed it.

Jim and Scarlett caught up just as the officer was getting out of his cruiser. “What’s going on, Scarlett? More shots fired out here? More bear traps?”

Jim shifted his gaze to Scarlett’s face. She hadn’t told him about any shots being fired out here or any bear traps. That’s all he needed for his other leg—a bear trap.

“Cody, you remember Jim Kennedy, don’t you?” She swept her arm in his direction.

With his left hand, Jim shook Cody Unger’s hand. Must be Deputy Cody Unger now. He’d been the high school quarterback and an all-around good guy. Jim hadn’t known him well—different circles.

“Kennedy.” Unger nodded. “Did you find him?”

“Scarlett did.” Jim held up his right palm. “But I checked him out. He has a wound to the chest and lost a lot of blood. This way.”

As Jim led the way with his flashlight, Scarlett asked Unger, “Where’s Sheriff Musgrove?”

“I called him. He’s not feeling well, told me to handle it.”

Jim stopped and pointed to the arm flung out on the trail. “That’s him. The rest of his body is beneath those bushes. I don’t know how he got there, but both Scarlett and I heard a scream or a cry earlier. Must’ve been him.”

“I have a couple of other deputies en route. They can canvass this area.” Unger squatted down next to the body and pushed the bushes away from it while shining his flashlight on the man’s face. “Doesn’t look familiar. Let’s get out of the way and let the EMTs do their thing.”

The EMTs squeezed past them as Jim and Scarlett followed Unger back to the access road.

“Do you mind if we talk inside your cabin, Scarlett?”

“I was hoping you’d ask.” She sniffled. “It’s cold out here.”

They ran into the other two deputies in front of Scarlett’s cabin and Unger instructed them to look for evidence in the area and to check for the man’s ID.

Once inside the cabin, Unger pulled a kit out of the black bag slung across his body. “I’m going to scrape some of that blood from your hand and get it on a slide. Then you can wash it off.”

Jim held out his hand, palm up, and Unger ran a stick over his skin to collect a sampling of the blood. He transferred it to a slide, sealed another slide on top of the first one and dropped it into a plastic bag. “You can clean up now. Thanks for preserving the evidence.”

Scarlett tapped his arm. “Bathroom’s the first door on your right.”

The art gallery spilled over to the bathroom with a border of flowers and cupids painted on the wallpaper and a mirror that looked fit for a wood sprite, with carved leaves and flowers curling around its edges.

Jim soaped up his hand and removed the blood. He didn’t want to mess up any of Scarlett’s artfully placed towels with residual blood, so he plucked a couple of tissues from the box and wiped off his hands just in case. He dropped them in the toilet and flushed.

He hunched forward, studying his reflection in the mirror, and grimaced. How the hell had he gotten mixed up with a dead body his first week back in Timberline? Not exactly the way to keep a low profile.

When he returned to the front room, he interrupted Scarlett reenacting the moment when the man grabbed her ankle.

“So, I kicked out, fell on the ground and screamed, just not sure of the order of those actions.”

Unger turned to him, his notebook in hand. “That’s when you returned? When you heard Scarlett scream?”

“I ran back, she pointed out the body and I felt his pulse and his chest.” He wiped his damp hand on his jeans. “That’s how I got his blood on me. I felt for a pulse first and listened for his breath, too. He was dead.”

“You ever had any CPR training, Kennedy?” Unger tapped his pencil against his pad.

“Six years as an army ranger sniper. I know the signs of a dead body when I see ’em, and I know when it’s too late to render aid.”

As he held Unger’s gaze, he heard Scarlett’s sharp intake of breath.

A slow smile spread across Unger’s face. “I guess you know what you’re doing. Did either of you recognize him?”

“I didn’t get a good look at his face and Scarlett didn’t see his face at all. He had a beard. I felt that when I listened for his breath.”

Scarlett asked, “Did you recognize him, Cody? You looked at his face, didn’t you?”

“Older guy, beard, long, reddish hair. I haven’t seen him around, but the conditions out in the woods are not optimal for identifying a body.” He shoved his notebook in his pocket. “I got your stories. If I have any other questions, I’ll let you know. It could just be an accident. I don’t know yet what caused his wound, but if it turns out to be homicide, we’ll call in the boys from county and they might have additional questions for you.”

Jim followed Unger to the front door and stepped out onto the porch with him. Scarlett tagged along, slinging her jacket over her shoulders. Did she plan to go out again?

Unger pointed to the trees crowding close to Scarlett’s cabin. “You should get those removed, Scarlett. Most cabins out here have some sort of clearing around them. I don’t know why the Butlers never did it when they had the place.”

“It’s one of the features that drew me to the cabin—the privacy. I need it for my work.”

Jim crossed his arms. “Don’t artists need natural light?”

“Not for the kind of work I do.”

He knew nothing about art or artists, except the kind that did tattoos, so he’d keep his mouth shut.

Scarlett gasped and grabbed his arm. “They’re bringing him out.”

Peering through the trees that ringed Scarlett’s property, Jim could make out the EMTs wheeling a gurney from the woods onto the access road.

They all made their way down the path, through the trees, and stopped short of the gurney at the mouth of the ambulance doors. The EMTs had yanked the white sheet over the dead man’s face.

One of the guys turned to Unger. “Looks like he succumbed to a stab wound to the chest—multiple stab wounds.”

Scarlett swayed beside him, and Jim put a steadying arm around her shoulders. “Did it happen here, on Scarlett’s property?”

The EMT shrugged. “I can’t tell. That’s for those deputies thrashing around out there to figure out.”

Unger whistled. “I’ll call Sheriff Musgrove right away. We’re going to need county out here now.”

“Should we wait for the county coroner?”

“Take him to the morgue at the hospital. The county coroner can work there.”

Unger turned to go back into the woods and Jim held up his hand to stop him. “Is Scarlett safe here? The guy could’ve been murdered twenty-five yards from her front door.”

Scarlett’s body stiffened beside him and he drew her closer.

“I’m calling the county sheriff’s department right now. They’ll probably be here the rest of the night. I don’t think Scarlett has anything to worry about.” Unger charged off toward the crime scene.

As the EMTs adjusted the straps on the body, Scarlett said, “Wait. C-can we see his face? I just want to make sure it’s not anyone I know, although if Cody didn’t recognize him I doubt I will.”

“Sure.” The EMT whipped back the sheet from the man’s face.

Jim clenched his jaw as sour bile rose from his gut. Scarlett and Unger might not know the murdered man, but Jim did.

And if the man hadn’t already been dead, he might’ve killed him himself.

Chapter Three

Scarlett swallowed as she studied the dead man’s face, half obscured by his bushy beard and mustache, some sort of tattoo creeping up his neck with an L and a C intertwined. She’d never been a portraitist, but if she had been she’d want this guy’s likeness on canvas. Even in death, he wore his life story on his face, etched in every line and wrinkle.

She blew out a breath. “I don’t know him. Jim?”

“Never saw him before in my life.”

The EMT tugged the sheet back over the man’s face and loaded him into the ambulance.

Unger returned with his deputies. “The county sheriff’s department should be out here shortly, Scarlett. They don’t need to disturb you tonight, but the lead detective will probably want to talk to both of you tomorrow. Going anywhere, Kennedy?”

“I’m staying at my...my place.”

Scarlett glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. The Kennedy cabin had been the closest residence to hers, but nobody had lived there since she’d bought the Butler place. Apparently, Jim Kennedy, the town enigma, had been off to war with the army rangers all these years.

When the EMT had lifted the covers on the dead man, Jim had moved away from her. She hadn’t minded his arm draped over her shoulders or the solid presence of his muscular frame, although she’d never been one to lean on a man. Her own father had died in a car accident along with her mother, and her uncle had been a black sheep, ostracized from the reservation.

She scooped her hair back from her face. “I’m going to call it a night. Tell those county deputies they can talk to me anytime they want, but mornings are best, before I get to work.”

Unger smacked the side of the ambulance as its engine started. “I’m going to back out and let these guys out of here, but I’m sticking around to wait for the county guys.”

“Okay if I leave, Unger?” Jim shoved his hands into his pockets where he must’ve still had his weapon stashed.

If the man had been shot instead of stabbed, would Jim have told Unger about his gun? If he had a gun, maybe he had a knife.

Scarlett closed her eyes and dragged in a deep breath. Nothing about Jim screamed cold-blooded killer, but she couldn’t shake the coincidence of his appearance followed by the discovery of a dead body on her property.

“You can leave. Again, just be available in case anyone wants to ask you any more questions.”

Scarlett pivoted on the gravel. “Hope you can figure out what happened to that poor man.”

Jim drew up beside her with his flashlight. “I’ll walk you back to your place, if that’s okay.”

“If you want, but I think I’ll be fine with half the Timberline Sheriff’s Department on my property and the county sheriffs showing up in a few.”

“I can take a look around and check your doors and windows—for when all those deputies leave.”

A little chill zapped the back of her neck, and she hunched her shoulders. “That’s a creepy thought.”

“Not my intention to scare you, but sometimes a little fear is a good thing.”

They returned to her cabin and Jim flicked the broken dead bolt. “You can start here by getting this replaced, and you might want a peephole in the door so you don’t have to look out that window.”

“Funny enough, I noticed those deficiencies myself when you banged on my door.”

“Why don’t you give me a tour?”

She spread her arms. “This is the great room, perfect for entertaining three guests at one time.”

His lips twisted as he checked the front window. Then he moved to the other two. “At least they all have working locks.”

“At least?”

“Anyone can smash a window.”

“Thanks for that.”

“But then you’d wake up and the intruder would lose his advantage, and you could always come at him with this.” He strolled to the fireplace and replaced the poker she’d snatched for her defense when he’d first come to her place. “Do you have a gun?”

“A gun? I hate guns.”

He pulled his own gun from his pocket and caressed the handle. “You hate guns because you’re afraid of them. If you learned how to take care of a gun and all the safety measures associated with gun ownership, you might feel differently.”

Shaking her head, she gritted her teeth. “I doubt it. Almost everyone around here has at least a shotgun and spends a lot of their time hunting defenseless animals.”

“I agree. You don’t have anything to fear from a wild animal.” He returned his gun to his pocket. “I spent my time in the army hunting a different kind of animal—definitely not defenseless.”

“You used to hunt, though, didn’t you?” She snapped her fingers. “That’s why you became a sniper. You were a great shot.”

“Something like that.” He pointed toward the kitchen. “Do you have a back door?”

“Two of them—a side door off the kitchen and then a back door from the addition. That’s another thing I liked about this cabin. The Butlers had added a room to the back of the house, which made a perfect studio.”

He checked the kitchen door and tapped the wood. “You need a dead bolt on this door, too.”

“I’ll get someone out to do both doors, same key.”

He stood in the middle of her kitchen, dwarfing it. He’d even been buff as a teenager. Instead of playing team sports for the high school, Jim had spent his time working out and lifting weights.

From the way his shoulders filled out his jacket, he hadn’t given up the weights.

“You know what you need in this kitchen?”

“Besides a twenty-four-hour chef?”

“A landline telephone. You can’t keep running to the end of the road in an emergency.”

She hunched over the kitchen counter, planting her elbows on the tile. “I came back here, bought this cabin to get away from it all, to work, not to get all plugged in.”

“After what just happened out there—” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder “—you need to think about your safety.”

She widened her eyes. “Why? Do you think there’s a serial killer on the loose or something? I’m not happy that someone died outside my cabin, but I don’t think it has anything to do with me. From the looks of the guy, it could’ve been a bar fight or drug related.”

Jim straightened up so fast from where he’d been bent over looking for a phone jack, he almost hit his head on the bottom of the cabinet.

“Why would you say that?”

“I don’t know. He looked a little rough around the edges, could’ve been using.”

“The point is, we don’t know his story.” He limped from the kitchen and tipped his chin toward the short hallway. “Okay if I take a look in the other rooms?”

“There are just the two bedrooms. You already visited the one bathroom, and then the room at the end of the hall—my studio.”

He pushed into the bathroom and placed his palms flat against the small, beveled-glass window. “Someone can slide this up and out. You can buy a rod to put across the top of the slider to prevent that, or you can even use a pencil.”

“Good idea. I never realized how unsafe I was before.”

“You never found a dead body on your property before—have you?”

“That was a first, although I guess it’s not all that rare for Timberline cabins to be housing dead bodies. Did you hear about Jordan Young killing his mistress twenty-five years ago and stuffing her body in the chimney of his cabin?” She sucked in a breath between her teeth and shivered.

“I read about the whole thing online when I got here. So much for peaceful little Timberline.”

He checked the windows in the guest bedroom, and then she led him to her own room. As he took a turn around the bedroom, she actually blushed—not out of modesty but because she’d just had a sudden vision of this man spread out on her bed.

“You should keep these closed at night.” He yanked the curtains together and she jumped. “Are you still nervous?”

“It’s not every day someone is murdered in your neighborhood.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. She should be feeling more anxious about that instead of daydreaming about Jim Kennedy in all his naked glory. She’d put it down to shock.

He tilted his head and that lock of dark hair fell over one eye—just like in high school. “Let’s take a look at that back door.”

As she led him to her studio, she clasped her hands in front of her, twirling her ring around her middle finger. She usually didn’t invite people into her inner sanctum, unless they were other artists. Not even potential clients saw her workspace.

Dragging in a breath, she threw open the door and flicked on the light.

Jim froze at the doorway, his mouth hanging slightly ajar. “I’ve never seen anything like this before in my life.”

“Well—” she waved her arms around “—it’s an artist’s studio.”

“You’re very...productive.” He swiveled his head from side to side, taking in the work on the walls, canvases stacked in the corner and unfinished pieces languishing on easels stationed around the room. “And kind of schizophrenic.”

“I guess that’s one way of putting it.”

“You’ve got normal stuff over here—” he flung out his right arm “—and...different kind of stuff over here.”

“Landscape watercolors on the right and modern, abstract oils on the left.”

“Let me guess.” He pointed to a painting comprising of skyscrapers, a pair of eyes and a wolf head. “This is the expensive stuff.”

“Good guess.” She held her breath waiting for him to ask her to explain the painting.

He studied it for several seconds with his head to one side and then shrugged. “This room isn’t secure at all.”

She released the breath. “Because of the glass wall.”

“It must look incredible during the day, but at night anybody could peer right into this room. If you keep expensive work in here, I’d think you’d want to protect it better.”

“This is Timberline. I really didn’t expect to move back here and experience a crime wave.” She rapped on the glass. “What do you suggest?”

“This is the back door?” He navigated through the easels and stands and yanked on the handle of the sliding glass door. He crouched down and inspected the track. “You can put a rod in here for an extra measure of safety in case someone breaks the lock. A camera wouldn’t be a bad idea, either.”

Twisting her braid around her hand, she sighed. “I might as well go back to the big city.”

“That man who died tonight probably has nothing to do with you.”

“Don’t try to make me feel better now after you just did a security check on my home...and found it woefully inadequate.”

“Problem is, we don’t know what he was doing out there, why he was killed or who killed him.”

He straightened up, grasping the door handle for support. She would’ve offered a hand, but Jim didn’t seem like the type of man who would accept assistance easily.

“Hopefully the county sheriff’s department can figure that out. I don’t need any more people lurking around my cabin, causing trouble.”

“Jordan Young was after that TV reporter, not you, right?”

“Jordan turned out to be Beth St. Regis’s biological father. He’d murdered her mother, his mistress, twenty-five years ago and sold Beth on the black market when she was a baby. He just turned his attentions toward me because I was helping Beth.” She shivered and pressed her hands against her stomach. “Pure evil.”

“He figured if anyone noticed his daughter’s disappearance, he could pass it off as another Timberline kidnapping?”

“Something like that, but nobody noticed the disappearance of mother and daughter since Beth’s mother had moved away after the pregnancy and had just returned to Timberline. Young had kept them hidden away in his cabin until he killed Angie, Beth’s mother.”

“Makes you wonder.” He shoved one hand in his pocket and stared out the wall of windows at the forest lurking in the darkness beyond.

“Wonder what?”

“If there was an active black market for children, maybe that’s what happened to the Timberline Trio.”

“Not you, too.” She shut off the light in the studio. “Ever since Wyatt Carson kidnapped those three children to recreate the Timberline Trio so he could play the hero, everyone and his brother have been snooping around looking into the Timberline Trio case.”

“You think that’s a bad idea?” He’d turned from the window and his eyes glimmered in the dark room.

“It’s over.” She’d never admit to him that she had her own reasons for finding out what had happened twenty-five years ago. She’d never admit that to anyone, since curiosity about the case seemed to put a target on your back.

He said, “I suppose it’s never over for the families. Look what it did to Wyatt Carson. Losing his younger brother like that must’ve jarred something loose in his psyche for him to go on and kidnap those children years later.”

“You’re right.” She stepped back into the light from the hallway. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but...”

“You’re Quileute.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” She jutted out her chin.

“Just that I know your people had some fears and superstitions around the whole Timberline Trio case.” He held up his hands. “Hey, they weren’t the only ones.”

As far as she could recall, Jim never had a problem with the Quileute, but his father was another story—loudmouthed bigot. Members of her tribe had been in a few barroom brawls with Slick Kennedy.

He’d gotten the nickname Slick because of his movie-star handsomeness and pumped-up physique. Her gaze tracked over Jim as he stood in the middle of the room, and she swallowed. The apple hadn’t fallen too far from that tree.

But Jim had never been in any trouble with her people, although all the guys her age had been wary of him because of his father, his brother and his father’s buddies—beer-drinking, bigoted bikers.

She lifted and dropped her shoulders quickly. “Yeah, there were some crazy stories going around at the time.”

He crossed the room and joined her at the door. “Anyway, you might want to look into securing this place better—at least until the deputies can figure out why that man dropped dead in the woods outside your cabin.”

“I’ll do that, thanks.” She closed the door to the studio. Halfway down the hallway, she turned suddenly and Jim bumped into her. She placed a palm against his chest where his heart thundered beneath her touch. “Sorry.”

His body tensed as he stepped away from her, and she dropped her hand.

“What are you doing back here, Jim?”

His lids lowered over his eyes and he studied her from beneath his thick, dark lashes. “Trying to get away from it all, just like you.”

She blinked and turned, calling over her shoulder. “How long have you been out of the army?”

“Over a year.”

“Is that...is that what happened to your leg?”

“Long story.”

It didn’t sound like he had any intention of sharing it with her. Maybe he’d loosen up after a few beers or a shot of whiskey.

When they reached the living room, he made a beeline for the front door. “See you around.”

Scarlett blinked. “I was going to offer you something for your trouble tonight and for staying with me. Beer? Coffee?”

“I’m good, thanks.”

Now it seemed as if he couldn’t get away from her fast enough. Must’ve thought she was prying into his business. She followed him to the front door, which he’d already opened.

He stepped out onto the dark porch.

“Oops, I turned off my porch light. Be careful. I have some plants...”

As he turned, Jim tripped over one of the pots and stumbled down the two steps, falling to the ground.

He cursed on his way down and landed with a thud in the dirt.

“I’m so sorry.” Scarlett switched on the porch light and flew down the steps. As she lowered herself to the bottom step to help Jim, his bare back, exposed by his shirt hiking up, drew her gaze.

Shock tingled through her body as she saw the edge of Jim’s tattoo—an L and a C curled together—just like the tattoo on the dead man.

Chapter Four

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He needed Scarlett Easton.

* * *

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

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

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

“No, and he didn’t have a wallet.”

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

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

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

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

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

What had happened to his leg?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* * *

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

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

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

“Totally different kind of art, Barbara.”

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

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

“Thanks, Barbara.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything for your granny, Scarlett.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scarlett rolled her eyes. “Does everyone know?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason transferred his look from Chloe to her.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jason’s eyes lit up. “You selling?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Anything to drink?”

They both ordered water.

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

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

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

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

Okay, so he’d just be vague about it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The landscape art.”

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

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

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

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

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

Jim proceeded to drench everything in ketchup.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is he new?”

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

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

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

“Nobody’s screaming and fainting.”

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

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

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

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

“What’s the news?”

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

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

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

“Club.”

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

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

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

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

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