Chapter 1
Dominic Lakeland slowed his speed as he caught sight of the Redwood Motel, the place Kendra Sullivan had suggested he stay while in Greybull.
The recent news he’d learned about his father’s plane crash had circled around in his brain during the long drive from Billings, Montana.
What should have been a two-hour ride had turned out to be three and a half, thanks to the recent snowfall.
Not only had it caused traffic to slow to a crawl, but he’d had to get out and help a stranded mother of two who’d gotten herself stuck in a high snowbank along the side of the road.
Dom wanted nothing more than to get out and stretch his legs. Even driving his large Ford truck, his six-foot-seven-inch frame had made him feel like a pretzel behind the wheel.
Now that he was in Wyoming, though, he was anxious to meet Kendra face-to-face.
She’d reached out two months ago asking him if he knew anything about the plane crash that had killed his father, who was the pilot, and her parents, the passengers.
At the time, he’d only known as much as she did.
When Kendra had mentioned her sister’s cadaver dog, Denali, had found skeletal remains from his father, he’d been intrigued.
He and Kendra had been communicating mostly through email and text messages, along with one computer video call when she’d encouraged him to drive down so they could discuss what might have happened.
Kendra had never believed the plane crash six years ago was an accident.
Turns out, Kendra was right. When the hospice nurse had called a week ago to let him know her patient had confessed to murdering his father, he’d been stunned.
She’d called the police, too, and the very next day, the Billings police had contacted him about the news.
He’d asked what the plan was moving forward, but the cops had simply shrugged.
The guy had confessed, and that was that. Case closed.
It wasn’t case closed for him and Kendra, though.
He burned with the need to know why his dad had been killed.
He and Kendra had arranged to dig further into Stuart Ramsey to find out more.
He’d agreed to drive down to Greybull, but now that he was seeing the Redwood Motel in person, he had second thoughts about the plan.
It was too late to turn back now. Glancing at the clock, he slowed and pulled into the parking lot of the motel.
Then he headed around toward the back of the property.
It was going on five o’clock in the afternoon—probably too late for them to get together that evening, but they could meet for breakfast. He put the gearshift into park and sent Kendra a quick text, letting her know he’d made it to the motel. Then he killed the engine.
As he slid out from behind the wheel of his Ford truck, he caught a hint of movement from the corner of his eye. He turned to get a better look just as the sound of gunfire split the night.
What in the world? He ducked and pressed himself against the metal frame of the truck, fighting to stay calm.
Fear washed over him as he crab-walked around the front of the vehicle, trying to figure out where the shooter was located.
It wasn’t easy to see in the dark, despite his new contact lenses.
Vanity had him trading his glasses for contacts, even though he wasn’t quite used to wearing them.
Stupid of him to want to look better for Kendra.
Another crack of gunfire had him lowering his head even farther.
His heart slammed against his sternum as adrenaline raced through his bloodstream.
It didn’t make any sense that someone would be gunning for him.
His life was boring. Predictable. He didn’t even live in Wyoming.
Who was out there? A crazy hunter? Someone else?
Had he interrupted some other crime in progress?
Maybe this was related to his father’s murder?
How, he wasn’t sure. Even the cops had considered it case closed.
He swallowed hard, realizing that staying put wasn’t an option.
Not if the gunman intended to keep shooting.
Unless the guy had already taken off? Dom eased up to peer around the edge of his truck.
Another crack of gunfire rang out. He ducked again, blinking to clear his vision. At twenty-eight years old, he’d never once been targeted by gunfire. Would someone inside the motel call the police? Did Greybull have a police department, or would he have to wait for a sheriff’s deputy to arrive?
Another bullet pinged off the hood of his truck, far too close to his head. He was really starting to get ticked off. Where was this guy? And why was he shooting at him?
Since he couldn’t see where the shooter was hiding, Dom decided to make a run for it.
He darted into the woods, keeping his head down.
The foliage provided decent cover, especially the large pine trees.
He was grateful for that until he glanced back over his shoulder and realized he was leaving boot prints in the snow.
Not good. This was not good! Picking up the pace, he ran through the trees. After several yards, he made a wide circle to double back. There had to be a way to get a look at this guy who’d fired so many shots at his truck. Maybe this was a case of mistaken identity?
No, that didn’t make sense. The shooter should have noticed his Montana license plates. He swallowed hard, realizing this must have been related to his father’s murder. Why anyone would come after him six years after the fact, he had no idea. Especially since Stuart Ramsey confessed to the crime.
Maybe he and Kendra were right not to consider the case closed.
Taking a quick break, he crouched behind an evergreen, straining to listen. After hearing so many gunshots, the ensuing silence was eerie. He drew in a deep breath to calm his racing heart. Had the shooter given up and left? Or had the guy headed into the woods to find him?
What if there was more than one of them? A band of fear tightened around his chest. He was about to pull out his phone to dial 911 when he heard a rustling sound.
An animal? Or human? Probably the latter. Giving up the idea of making a call, which would have given away his location, he eased farther into the woods. He glanced over his shoulder, wincing when he again saw his tracks.
They were so obvious a blind man could have followed them.
It couldn’t be helped. Continuing in a half circle, he gauged where the road was located.
Maybe a half mile? If he could reach the road, he knew the hard-packed snow that had been flattened by numerous tire tracks would help cover his footprints.
He could take the road for a while before heading back into the woods. When he was safe, he could call 911.
Dom continued moving swiftly through the forest. Pausing near a large oak tree, he thought he saw movement. With a frown, he ducked and scanned the woods. For long moments, he didn’t move, barely breathing as he watched and listened.
There! A dark shadow stepped out from behind a tree. Dom could see the guy held a handgun. Swallowing hard, he stayed put, hoping the guy would turn away.
He didn’t. Instead, another crack of gunfire reverberated through the woods.
Enough already! Dom spun and ran, doing a zigzag pattern from one tree to the next. His long legs worked to his advantage now, and while he’d never run for pleasure, he didn’t let that slow him down.
Where were the local cops? Hadn’t anyone from the motel called them?
Dom continued in the general direction of the road.
After what seemed like eons, he caught a glimpse of the plowed street through a break in the trees.
He slowed his pace, fearing there could be a second man out there waiting for him to emerge.
Hunkering down beside a tree, he waited.
Headlights indicated a car was moving down the street from the west. He waited until it had passed, then rushed out to the road.
Seeing nobody lurking nearby, he broke into a jog, running west, away from the hotel.
Glancing over his shoulder, he was relieved to see his footprints weren’t readily visible on the hard-packed snow.
With renewed energy, he picked up his speed, putting even more distance between himself and the shooter.
After traveling about a mile or so, he noticed another pair of headlights illuminating the sky behind him.
The sharp curve in the road made it impossible for him to see what sort of car was approaching.
Fearing the gunman had figured out his ploy, he abruptly leaped over the snowbank to get off the road, quickly diving back into the safety of the woods.
Dom kept moving, determined to stay well ahead of the gunman.
When he came across a fallen log, he jumped over that, the way he’d hurdled the snowbank.
Only this time, he landed at an awkward angle.
His right foot slipped, and he lost his balance.
Falling, the back of his head struck the fallen tree trunk.
Then there was nothing but darkness.
Kendra Sullivan frowned as she drove into the town of Greybull for the second time in less than a week. Dominic Lakeland still hadn’t responded to her text message. Was he ignoring her on purpose? That would be strange since he was the one who’d texted her to say he’d arrived at the Redwood Motel.
“What do you think, Smoky?” She eyed her Alaskan malamute in the rearview mirror. “Maybe he brought his girlfriend along and is distracted by spending time alone with her.”