Chapter 4
Josie’s feet slapped against the smooth asphalt as she ran up Whistle Mountain’s road, keeping to the far right so joggers, cyclists, and cars would see her as they came around the various bends.
Her legs burned and she dragged in long, steady breaths to keep her heart rate even.
She’d been on the cusp of a heart attack since Quin showed up.
His note had mentioned lunch. Her stomach flipped at the thought of sitting down for a meal with him after everything that had happened.
Should she just pretend he hadn’t shattered her world all over again?
That now she had to suspect someone in town of Liam’s murder?
That she hadn’t collapsed in his embrace only hours before?
Good grief. She wouldn’t think about it now. She kept her gaze on the road ahead and pumped her arms harder. She needed to clear her head and ground herself in nature. Lord knows she’d need as many energy-clearing techniques as she could muster to get through the rest of Quin’s stay.
Unless he was here for good.
She grunted as she climbed higher up the mountain. Nope. Quin didn’t deserve to take up another minute of her attention—especially given that she’d tossed and turned and only fell asleep at the memory of his hold.
She scanned the trees and bushes to her right, keeping her eyes peeled for bears in the forest. And mountain lions.
McKenna’s boyfriend, Jaxon, had been attacked by a cougar a few months ago, and since then, she’d been way more aware of the stealthy creatures that were rarely spotted but always watching.
Bear spray dangled on the clip at her waist, bouncing off her hip. She took another deep breath in, and the cool mountain air expanded her lungs. Fog hung below the peaks and filled the canyons, the clouds so close she could touch them.
There was no place else on earth she could ever live.
The roar of an engine reached her ears. She kept up her pace but moved closer to the shoulder as the vehicle approached behind her.
It didn’t pass. She cast a glance over her shoulder and saw a large dark-blue Dodge Ram.
She squinted as the sun blasted her in the eyes, making it impossible to make out the driver.
Probably someone concerned about passing.
She waved them on and moved even closer to the shoulder.
The engine revved, and the sound ripped over the treetops. Birds scattered. She frowned and slowed her pace, but instead of pulling away from the right side of the road, the truck fell in line behind her.
Her heart stopped. Icy cold sweat chilled her spine.
What the—
Tires screeched as the driver stomped on the gas, sending the hunk of metal hurtling toward her. She leaped to the side of the road. Bushes snagged her pants, but the bumper continued moving closer. She screamed. The pinging of gravel hitting the vehicle reached her ears.
She gasped as she darted over the uneven terrain. The driver was going to run her down. She sent a fleeting look over her shoulder—not far. Fifteen feet. If she tripped, she’d be roadkill. She had seconds to put distance between the bumper and her.
Using all her strength she catapulted herself over the ditch. Her knees hit the rocks and earth, but she surged to her feet and charged into the line of trees.
She couldn’t stop.
They’d find her. If someone wanted her dead, they’d be ballsy enough to get out of the vehicle and chase her.
She wet her lips as broken breaths squeezed from her throat.
She had to call for help. Digging into her jacket, she pulled out her phone.
Her toe caught a tree root and she stumbled. Her phone flew from her fingers.
Pain shot through her ankle, and she flipped over into the dirt and down the steep slope of a ravine. Tree branches, gray sky, and grass whirled through her vision as she tumbled. She lifted her arms to protect her head. Every bounce sent a shockwave through her nervous system.
She landed in mud with a smack. The world around her continued to spin and her head throbbed with the effort it took not to close her eyes and pass out. She had to stay alert. Get help.
A twig snapped.
Her heart stalled in her chest, and she clamped her lips together on a sob.
* * *
Frasier Donohue.
Quin tucked his chin and pulled down his baseball cap. With his sunglasses on there was no way Frasier would recognize him. He watched as Frasier tucked his long legs into his SUV and pulled away from the curb in front of his home.
Liam’s enemy.
It seemed unlikely that Liam and Frasier would have had any beef that Quin didn’t know about, but Josie was right—there were very few people in this town who’d kill anyone, let alone a likable dude like Liam.
Frasier was a hunch. Maybe even a fucking stretch. But he had to start somewhere. Quin got out of the car. The street was quiet. A USPS driver dropped off a package five doors down. The mountains hung like a backdrop behind Frasier’s quaint bungalow. The sight was so pretty it almost appeared fake.
Quin had missed the mountains.
Hadn’t missed having a warrant out for his arrest and the whole town hating him.
But on loud, busy nights in Denver he’d craved this tranquil atmosphere.
He kept his gaze low as he breezed down the walkway to Frasier’s backyard.
He unlatched the fence, entered the property, and shut the gate behind him.
Overgrown weeds scattered the perimeter of the backyard. And shit, didn’t the guy own a lawn mower? He made his way to the back door and tried the handle. The door swung open.
Quin froze.
Geez, small-town people were weird. He’d never leave his door unlocked.
He listened carefully for a sound but heard nothing.
He’d checked Frasier’s social media accounts while he waited for the prick to leave for work.
No mention of a girlfriend and all his pictures were selfies—shocking. The dude had an ego the size of Texas.
He closed the door behind him. The scent of old pizza and sour milk struck his senses as he entered the kitchen.
Dishes sat on the counter beside the sink, not yet rinsed, and a pizza box took up the top of the stove.
He moved through the space toward the bedroom.
While the house was quaint due to its location and small size, the interior lacked personal touches.
Not that he could blame the dude. He wasn’t one for decorating either.
Quin entered the house’s only bedroom, and the sensation of critter legs skittering over his skin made him ball his hands into fists. Breaking and entering wouldn’t help the case stacked against him, but if there was some evidence pointing to Frasier as Liam’s killer—a motive—he had to find it.
A laptop sat on the end table next to the half-made bed. Quin picked it up and cracked it open. Not password protected. Also not surprising.
He swatted discarded jeans from a foldout chair against the wall and lowered himself into it.
First, he went to the saved pictures and scrolled.
Nothing but hiking photos and a few of wild animals and some fish Frasier had caught.
He went to a folder marked Bonfire 2019.
Dark, grainy images filled the screen. The long, T-shaped dock jutting out behind a bonfire and barbeques jogged his memory.
Voyer Lake. A hot spot for beach parties in the summer.
He’d attended a few in his years since moving to Whistlemore.
The photos had been taken at sunset. Some were clearer than others. He enlarged the pictures and flicked through them one at a time. Why the hell had Frasier snapped so many?
Something caught his eye. He stopped and retreated to the previous photo. Liam’s smile lit the corner of the photo. The top half of his face was cut off, but his dimpled grin was unmistakable. He was smiling down at Josie, whose back was to the camera.
Not a very telling picture. It wasn’t surprising that Josie and Liam had been at the town’s bonfire, so not strange that Frasier had caught a picture of them. But the next photo was another shot of Liam and Josie. Again, Liam’s head was partially cropped out. Josie was on her tiptoes kissing him.
The next photo made his stomach clench.
It was a close-up of Josie’s breasts. The next was of her ass, with Liam’s hand resting at her tailbone.
Sweat collected on Quin’s brow. He wiped it off and kept flicking. The sunset. A group shot. Frasier with one of his friends, Reagan.
He clicked faster then stopped.
The collar of his shirt tightened around his neck. He stood to pace, anger making his skin blaze. It was a zoomed-in shot of Josie.
Her head was thrown back in a laugh, and she held a red plastic cup.
Another photo of her, tucking her hair behind her ear. Another of her tongue wetting her lips. He flicked through ten more frames. All various shots of Josie.
Jesus, fuck.
He pulled out the thumb drive that dangled from his keychain and downloaded the whole folder. He’d go through the rest of the pictures later. Josie had to see this. The light on the thumb drive blinked, and he removed the device.
The outside gate slammed. Quin leaped to his feet and moved the blinds aside just as Frasier walked past.
Shit.