Chapter Twenty-Six
Sam was going to make it.
Zion’s on-call vet had gaped at the fact Rome was still alive after trying to treat a wild black bear not under sedation, but then again, so was Rome. He might’ve been mauled if he’d made a mistake, but thankfully, he wouldn’t have to be the one to inform Lettie the bear had nearly died.
Rushing through cleaning the blood off his hands and changing into a set of clean clothes in the ranger’s private bathroom at headquarters, Rome tried calling her for the third time.
He’d noted her missed call and listened to her voicemail more than four hours ago, but the reception in the middle of the woods had been nonexistent up until now.
Again, the call went straight to voicemail.
He’d already left two messages. Either the battery in her phone had died, or she’d turned it off.
Considering she’d been the one to reach out to him, he doubted the latter, but it wasn’t like her to let her devices die.
Shoving his phone into his jacket pocket, Rome unloaded his rifle and set it in the back of the pickup he’d borrowed from Randy.
Something about the way Sam had been nearly gutted and left to die didn’t sit right with him.
Not just from the cruelty of it—real hunters followed through with their kills and put their prey out of their misery—but the timing.
Sam hadn’t been out there long, maybe a couple hours.
Any longer and the black bear might’ve bled out.
The killer had known that, had potentially practiced on another animal or maybe the victims he’d murdered.
But why? What was the point of it? To lure Lettie to those woods?
The tracker they’d recovered was no longer active.
Neither him nor Lettie had any idea where Sam had gone in the past couple of days, but maybe their attacker hadn’t considered that.
And he would have had to have known about Lettie’s work in the first place.
Lettie.
Her name stuck in his head on repeat. Like a song he couldn’t get out of his mind until he heard it played a few times, he wouldn’t be able to rid himself of this anxiety of the unknown until he had her in his sights.
Randy hadn’t seen her, and there was no answer from her hotel room when he’d gone to check.
The forensic unit was finished with her van and had identified three distinct sets of prints, the first theorized to be Lettie’s based on the number of samples found all over the vehicle, including the steering wheel.
Rome had already given Randy permission to pull his prints from the National Park Service records to rule out himself as a suspect.
But the third set were what the team was really interested in and would rush to identify through federal databases and local police resources.
The prints of a potential stalker.
Rome shoved the truck into Drive and tore out of the parking lot, merging with shuttle traffic and tourist vehicles headed toward the main entrance to the park.
His good hand tingled with the need to go faster, to do whatever it took to get to her, but the exit comprised of only one lane heading into the small town of Springdale.
Hell, she might be ignoring him after what’d went down between them, but this didn’t feel like one of their fights. His heart nearly pounded through his rib cage as he finally got free of the park.
Only to find flashing lights in his rearview mirror.
“Damn it.” Rome flicked on his hazards and forced himself to pull to the side of the road.
Coming to a full stop, he grabbed for the registration in the glove compartment.
Desperation and defeat combined into a toxic cycle threatening to unravel him from the inside.
Lettie. He had to get to Lettie. Every second stuck here was a second he didn’t know where she was, if she was safe, if the killer had somehow found her.
There was a chance he could lead police straight back to the hotel and convince them to check on his wife themselves, but a glance in the rearview mirror identified the officer who’d accused Rome of being a threat to this investigation. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Three taps on the window with the end of the officer’s baton had him rolling down the window. Tick tock. Tick tock. Tick tock. Seconds ticking off were too loud in his head.
“Based on how quickly you pulled me over after leaving the park, I’m going to guess you were waiting for me, Officer.”
“You’d be right. License and registration, Mr. Foster.” A half smile cocked at one side of the officer’s mouth.
“Don’t suppose you’d tell me why you saw fit to pull me over?” Handing both over, Rome tried not to glance at the clock. At the minutes slipping through his fingers.
“That warrant came through. The one that granted Springdale PD access to your juvenile records.” The officer braced his hands on the ledge of Rome’s window, leaning in to scan the rest of the vehicle with paperwork still in hand.
“I find it a little too convenient that a man capable of killing his uncle in cold blood is wrapped up in an investigation where his wife’s boyfriends are being found murdered. ”
“I’ve already told you I had nothing to do with those men’s deaths.” Rome’s knuckles tried to break through skin as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel. “Lettie and I have been separated for the past six months. She’s free to date whomever she pleases.”
“I know a killer when I see one, Mr. Foster, and I’m looking right at him.
” A killer. That was what had reflected in Lettie’s gaze just before she’d kicked him out of her hotel room.
Her fear. Her grief. Her confusion. The officer leaned away from the window, casting his attention to the back of the truck.
“But seeing as how you keep telling me you’re innocent, you won’t mind if I take a look at the rifle in the bed of the truck then. ”
Now why would police want his rifle? A prickling sensation tapped at the back of his neck, urging him to see the trick in this little game.
Rome pried his fingers from the steering wheel, forcing himself to remain in his seat.
“By all means. Hasn’t been discharged in weeks, and I’ve got my hunting permit and gun registration right here. ”
A knowing smile crested the officer’s face. As though he’d just gotten exactly what he’d wanted. A cat caught with the canary in its mouth. “Springdale PD thanks you for your cooperation.”
Rome willed himself to breathe, to stop counting off the seconds.
It wouldn’t do him a damn bit of good. Grabbing for his phone, he punched a message to Randy.
The superintendent and his law enforcement officers were already at the hotel.
Lettie hadn’t answered the door when Randy checked in on her, but it was possible she hadn’t heard it or that she hadn’t wanted to see him.
Still, Rome couldn’t get rid of the tension in his back telling him something was wrong. And that he was wasting time.
“You own any other guns, Mr. Foster?” The officer pocketed Rome’s registration and hauled the rifle from the bed of the truck, angling the barrel toward the asphalt. He ran one hand down the length of the gun.
Rome tracked the vehicles leaving the park to take his mind off the anxiety overtaking his control. “A few. No others on me or in the truck.”
“How long have you owned this weapon?” Skimming his hand down the barrel, the officer whistled low as though he was impressed with the craftsmanship.
Rome’s breath caught. “A little over twenty-seven years.”
“So right about the time your uncle was murdered in cold blood.” The officer sidled back up to the window, the rifle still in hand. “Tell me, Mr. Foster. Was this the weapon that killed him?”
“That case is closed.” Where was he going with this? “And I served my time.”
“And yet I’ve got four dead men and a fifth missing all connected to your wife, and I don’t think for one minute that itty-bitty thing is capable of the brutality and violence I saw on those bodies.
” The officer set his gaze over the top of the truth, toward the small cliffs lining one side of the park entrance.
“Not to mention, she doesn’t have the strength to string them up like that. ”
His jaw locked against that incessant ticking in the back of his mind. “You don’t know my wife.”
“What I do believe is you and Arlette Larson were separated. She moved to Zion, but you couldn’t have your favorite plaything so far away.
So you followed her here. You found out your wife has been two-timing you.
I don’t know, maybe she slips up. Accidentally sends you a message meant for one of them, and you, being the skilled hunter you are, find the men she’s been seeing, including her intern.
” A sheen of sweat glistened off the officer’s face as he leaned in far enough to leave a hint of familiar cologne in the truck cab.
No. Not cologne. Perfume. “You already know she’s using a black bear in her research.
What better way to stage each murder as an animal mauling and wait for her to run right back to you? Am I close?”
Her intern. Rome hadn’t heard any news about the man’s body being found in the park yet, but the killer hadn’t waited more than a single day between when his first four victims went missing and their bodies having been discovered. Why was he taking so long now?
Unless the intern wasn’t missing at all.
Rome sat up straight in his seat, not really seeing anything through the windshield, his mind racing to fill in the blanks.
The close proximity to Lettie, the easy access to her life, the knowing where she would be at any given time of day based off of Sam’s movements, all tracked by her intern in the lab and the device she’d created.
And now Lettie was unprotected. At risk.
A burning simmer started in his veins. It wasn’t the officer’s accusation that reminded Rome of his uncle’s manipulations, it was the grab for control, to watch someone weaker and with less power struggle under his boot.
But Rome had learned enough of this game to end it.
“That’s a great story. I’ve got a better one for you.
It’s about a low-level, small-town cop who got himself in over his head by stealing from crime scenes and who would lose everything if his superiors discovered his dirty little secret. ”
“Excuse me?” The cop gripped his hands around the rifle as though he’d turn it on Rome in an instant, and that was a possibility.
“Lettie’s perfume. I can smell it on you, and there’s only one reason you’d have it.
” The pieces were falling in place, the connections staring back at him so clearly.
Rome pointed at the officer’s collar. To the hint of gold peeking out.
“You took a hockey jersey from her intern’s apartment, a jersey my wife sleeps in every night and was taken by her stalker.
Shawn. I’m sure this isn’t the only time you’ve helped yourself to the spoils of your investigations, but it’s the one you’re going to regret. ”
Color drained from the officer’s face. “Is that so?”
“How about we make a deal, Officer?” Rome would agree to anything at this point.
“You put that rifle back where you found it, let me be on my way and return that jersey to its rightful owner, and I won’t file a report with your CO for harassment and compromising a crime scene.
Hell, I’ll even take you straight to the killer who murdered those four victims.”
The officer glanced down at the weapon in his hands and slowly, but surely, set it back in the bed of the truck. “How can I be of assistance, Mr. Foster?”
The pressure in his chest eased slightly. “We need to find Shawn.”