Chapter Two
When Cat had been offered the job, she hadn’t quibbled or even asked a lot of questions.
That her first law enforcement job was in the middle of nowhere was perfect.
It was wild country, only a few camps along the only highway that followed the Yaak River.
Otherwise, it was just mountains and pines, lots of pines.
She hadn’t cared that the closest real town was Eureka, miles away, across the narrow Lake Koocanusa that crossed the border into Canada.
She was exactly where she’d wanted to be.
She wondered if Dylan Walker felt the same way as she headed south of town toward the ranch Dylan had purchased almost a year ago, but apparently had only moved full time to the ranch three months ago.
He’d paid a small fortune for the large, remote, exclusive ranch a dozen miles from Fortune Creek.
From what Cat had learned about the man, he was a thirty-seven-year-old retired construction consultant who had worked abroad much of his career.
His former address was in the DC area.
He had no social media presence, had apparently never been arrested, and other than a short marriage, had left little to no paper trail.
She could find no photograph of the man other than the poor quality mugshot on his Montana driver’s license.
What was interesting was that nine months ago he’d lost his wife in a car bombing in DC following a charity event that they had attended.
The same event where Lindsey Martin swore he’d impregnated her.
Nine months.
There seemed to be a pattern here, Cat told herself.
After getting the pertinent information about the night in question from Ms.
Martin, Cat suggested the woman get a room at the Fortune Creek Hotel across the street from the sheriff’s office.
“You’ll be safe there.
I’ll let you know what I find out,”
she promised.
Now, as Cat drove the narrow, winding, seldom-used road south through thick pines toward the posted and gated entrance into the isolated ranch, she wondered about the man she’d come to see.
If what Lindsey had told her was true, Dylan Walker probably wasn’t going to talk to her either—not without a warrant.
This trip was a fact-finding mission.
She had to make at least an attempt to talk to the man before she could go to a judge.
But with only a threatening note, she doubted she could get a warrant.
As Cat drove up to the unmanned gate, a camera lens followed her every movement as she approached what appeared to be an intercom system.
She pulled out her badge and held it out the patrol SUV window, not sure if the camera would pick it up before pressing the intercom button.
“Acting Sheriff Cat… Catherine Jameson to see Dylan Walker.”
For a moment, she thought she wouldn’t get an answer.
Then a deep male voice demanded, “What’s this about?”
“I need to speak to Dylan Walker about a law enforcement matter,” she said.
“You have a warrant?”
“I just need to ask a few questions, but if you insist, I’ll get a warrant.”
She waited, expecting she was going to get the same reception Lindsey Martin had, when she heard the gate clank and begin to slide open.
Relieved and yet wary, she drove in before the gate swung closed behind her.
Why all the security? It seemed overkill.
Maybe the man had more to hide than even Lindsey Martin knew.
Then she reminded herself that his wife had died in a car bombing.
Maybe he had reason to fear for his own life.
Before driving out here, she’d read as much as she could find on the car bombing in DC.
Lindsey Martin claimed she’d been at the same fundraiser gala as Dylan Walker—the same night as the car bombing.
While Cat doubted one had anything to do with the other…it was an interesting coincidence.
Also, it brought up all kinds of questions.
If Dylan and his wife, Ginny Cooper Walker, had been together at the event, how did he find time to slip away with Lindsey Martin? Also, how was it that his wife had died and not him? Had they taken separate cars? Or was he busy possibly drugging and then taking advantage of Ms.
Martin? Had the bomb been intended for both husband and wife? If so, why would anyone want to kill them? And where did Lindsey Martin fit in all this—if she did.
Cat drove along a narrow road through the thick pines until the trees finally opened up and she caught glimpses of the ranch house.
The first word that came to mind was opulent and massive.
Stone, giant timbers and walls of glass rose to three stories and stretched across the landscape directly ahead.
Off to one side was a five-car garage constructed of the same materials.
She noted a small cottage some distance away.
The sprawling three-story mansion made it look like a dollhouse.
There was no sign of anyone around except for a large black SUV parked in front of the smaller dwelling.
As Cat drove closer, a man came out of the cottage and stood, hands on his hips, watching her from the front deck.
He wore a flannel shirt, jeans and boots, no hat.
Her first thought was that he must be the caretaker.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, imposing, his stance impatient as he raked a hand through hair that gleamed in the sunlight and curled at his collar.
She felt suddenly uneasy, her reaction to the man a surprise.
There was no way this was the man of the manor, was there? Dylan Walker?
Dylan moved swiftly to the patrol SUV, planning to make this as painless and quick as possible.
He regretted letting in the local law.
But he had to know what this was about and nip it in the bud.
He’d moved here to disappear.
He didn’t want attention called to him—especially by some acting sheriff.
Better to get this out of the way and be done with it.
Whatever this was.
Before he could reach the patrol SUV, a small, slim woman climbed out.
It wasn’t until she turned that he realized she was pregnant.
She wore jeans, a tan short-sleeved shirt with a silver star on it and a Stetson over fire-engine red long curly hair that seemed to be fighting to free itself from the elastic around her low ponytail.
He hadn’t gotten a good look at her on the gate surveillance camera, so it wasn’t until she turned to him that he saw her face beneath the shaded brim of her hat.
He’d never seen so many freckles.
Nor had she made any attempt to cover them with makeup.
Struck by how young she looked, fresh-faced with a no-nonsense nose and a generous mouth, he found himself fighting a smile.
He couldn’t imagine anyone wearing a silver star looking more harmless—until he met her eyes.
They were an intense blue like the sky overhead.
But it was the way those eyes bore into him that sent his pulse racing.
There was intelligence there, a sharp mind, and a whole lot of determination mixed with suspicion.
Whatever this woman was doing here, she meant business.
“Acting Sheriff Cat… Catherine Jameson,”
she said again, holding out her hand to shake his.
He was looking at her left hand and the plain gold band on it.
Her grip was firm.
As they shook hands, she studied him as if looking for something.
It felt like she could see into his soul, and he didn’t like that feeling.
“I need to ask you a few questions.
Maybe we should step inside your house.”
She glanced toward the larger of the structures.
“That’s not my house.”
She raised a fine pale brow, those deep blue eyes narrowing a little.
“It’s my house, but it isn’t where I live.”
He definitely didn’t like the way she was looking at him.
“What’s this about?”
Cat could see that she wasn’t going to be invited inside even the small cottage.
Okay, if he wanted to do this out here, she was fine with it.
She’d get right to it.
“I’m here about a woman named Lindsey Martin.”
He frowned, furrowing his brows, making his light blue eyes narrow under brows as dark as his espresso brown hair.
“I don’t know anyone by that name.”
She noticed that he definitely needed a haircut and had for a while now.
A lock had fallen over his forehead.
He brushed it back with obvious irritation as if he normally wore it much shorter.
He also needed a shave, his strong jaw bristled and dark.
“Ms.
Martin claims that the two of you met in Washington, DC, about nine months ago.”
The nine months seemed to make his eyes darken even further.
“If we met, I have no memory of it.”
“She claims you had a one-night stand at a gala after drugging her and not using protection, which left her pregnant.”
He started to interrupt, but she continued.
“After she recently contacted you, she also has what appears to be evidence that you threatened her and the baby.”
Dylan Walker’s face clouded over.
She could see him fighting to rein in his anger.
He lifted a large, suntanned hand, took a couple of deep breaths and said calmly, “I can assure you that I didn’t impregnate anyone—let alone drug and assault a woman I’ve never heard of.
She is mistaken.”
“She claims she came out here to the ranch yesterday morning, but that you wouldn’t let her in, denied everything, and after that she received a death threat for both her and her baby if she kept causing you trouble.
Are you telling me that a woman didn’t contact you at your gate yesterday?”
she asked.
“And you refused to let her in?”
He frowned.
“When was this?”
“About 8:00 a.m.”
“I take a long ride every morning—just as I did yesterday.
There is no way she talked to me.”
“Who would she have spoken with then, if not you?”
Letting out a sigh, he said, “I had a guest here.
She must have spoken with the woman, though she didn’t mention it to me.”
“That’s odd since Ms.
Martin indicated it was a man’s voice on the intercom, a man she assumed was you,” Cat said.
He shook his head.
“I don’t know what I can tell you.
Like I said, I wasn’t here and the only other person on the ranch was Rowena.”
“Rowena? I’m going to need her full name and a number where I can reach her.”
She pulled out her notebook and pen and waited.
“Rowena Keeling.”
He spelled both names and she wrote them down.
“I don’t know her cell number.
I’ll have her call you.”
Cat raised a brow.
“She’s still staying with you?”
He didn’t look sure.
“I believe she went into Eureka.
I’ll ask her for her number when she gets back.”
Apparently, he and his guest weren’t very close if he really didn’t have her number.
“Ms.
Martin left her information about where she was staying in Eureka on a note in your mailbox.
Do you still have it?”
He raked a hand through his hair irritably.
“I never had it.
Maybe Rowena does.
I can ask.”
Cat studied him, wondering why his guest would take something from his mailbox.
Also wondering if he really was the wrong man.
He was smooth, controlled and came off as if blindsided by the accusation.
She tried to decide if she believed him or the terrified pregnant woman who’d come to her for help.
What would motivate Lindsey Martin to lie? The obvious reason was money.
Walker appeared to have a lot of it.
Was it possible Lindsey had cooked this up to try to cash in?
But there was one surefire way to prove that Dylan Walker was the father of her baby—a DNA test.
“You do understand that once the baby is born and a DNA sample is taken, the truth will come out,” Cat said.
“I certainly hope so because whoever this woman is, she isn’t having my baby.”
“You’re certain?”
“Positive.”
Cat wasn’t sure what to think.
Dylan Walker sounded convinced that a DNA test would prove he wasn’t the father of Lindsey Martin’s baby.
But the fact that they were both in the same place at the same time at a fundraiser gala for an art center nearly nine months ago made even the rookie cop in her suspicious.
One of them was lying.
She thought about Lindsey’s answers to her questions.
Why hadn’t she called the police if she really thought she’d been drugged? Because she couldn’t be sure.
She’d had a lot to drink and the sex had been consensual, she’d said.
All of that could be true.
How the pieces fit together—if they did—was beyond Cat at this point.
Was it possible Lindsey was mistaken about the man who she claimed had impregnated her?
“Ms.
Martin claims she met you the night of an art gala,” Cat said.
He shook his head.
“Like I said, I don’t know anyone by that name.
I met a lot of people at the galas.
I didn’t sleep with any of them.”
“The accusations against you are serious, if true.”
“I’m aware of that.”
Dropping his gaze, he shoved aside that errant lock of dark hair.
As he did, his fingers absently traced the half-moon scar at his temple as if it was something he often did.
Had he been injured that night in the bombing? A muscle tensed in his jaw as he ground out, “I was at an art gala at the same time as your victim, but she’s mistaken about me being with her.
I was with my wife.”
But not all night, Cat thought but hesitated to bring up the bombing or his deceased wife.
Clearly, they hadn’t been together at the time of the bombing.
“You’d be willing to take a DNA test if it comes to that?”
His look confirmed that he was losing his patience.
“If it comes to that.
But it’s a waste of your time, I can assure you.
I wasn’t the man.”
Cat heard pain in his words.
She could tell he was regretting opening his gate and letting her in.
So why had he talked to her without his lawyer present? Because he really had nothing to hide? Maybe he thought he could convince her of his innocence.
The thing was he kind of had, she realized.
She believed him.
Or maybe just wanted to believe him.
Dylan Walker appeared to be a grieving man in a great deal of emotional pain.
He’d bought this ranch before the bombing.
Had he planned to live here with his wife at some point? Cat got the impression that he wanted to be alone, and from what she could tell, he was. Except for a woman named Rowena Keeling.
“I’d like to speak to Ms. Keeling.”
She glanced at the large house where he said he didn’t live.
Is that where she was staying or in this cottage with him? “When do you expect her back?”
He shook his head.
“I have no idea.
I’ll tell her to call you if I see her.
I’m sorry.
I don’t have her cell phone number.
She was a friend of my wife’s.”
“If you see her, you might want to also ask her for the note Ms.
Martin left in your mailbox.”
When he didn’t respond, she added truthfully, “I hope I won’t have to come back,”
as she put away her notebook and pen.
“So do I, Acting Sheriff Cat Jameson.”
His gaze met hers and she felt a shiver run the length of her spine at both his look and the intimacy of calling her by her nickname after her slip-up.
Dylan Walker was a very attractive man—in a dark kind of way, but when his gray-eyed gaze softened and he looked at her like that… She had a feeling that he was used to getting what he wanted, she thought with another chill.
Right now, he just wanted her gone.
Climbing back into her patrol SUV, she drove around the loop past the big house.
It appeared to be empty.
No car out front.
No sign of anyone else on the property, but with a ranch this size, it would be impossible to know for sure.
She glanced back.
Dylan Walker no longer stood outside.
If her visit had upset him, he hadn’t shown it.
Because he wasn’t afraid of some acting sheriff out of Fortune Creek, Montana?
She headed for the road out, the gate opening as she approached.
She glanced toward the security camera that followed her departure, wondering if he was watching or if he’d already put all of this out of his mind.
She made a mental note to see about getting footage from the surveillance camera that would prove Lindsey Martin had come out here and tried to see him.
It could also prove that he was lying about not having spoken with her.
But for now, there was nothing more that she could do until she had enough proof to get a warrant.
Cat was more anxious than ever to talk to Lindsey Martin again.