CHAPTER THREE #2
“I am.” His deep, gravelly voice was infused with confidence. That surety was a sharp contrast to the hopelessness I’d felt all day after Winn’s update last night.
After she’d taken my statement at the hospital, she’d sprung into action. Within an hour, she’d issued the APB with the description I’d provided. She’d engaged with the county sheriff’s department, who had activated the search and rescue team to scour the mountains.
My dad and brothers had been part of that effort. Over twenty people and three dogs had combed over the area where I’d been attacked.
They’d stayed out late Friday night, well past dark, and had finally returned to town empty-handed. Yesterday, more of the same. If there was a trail to find, it had been lost.
That asshole had escaped.
Winn would likely be here soon with another update. I didn’t expect a different outcome.
“The local authorities haven’t found him,” I told Vance. “What makes you think you can?” Maybe it was my ragged voice, but I wasn’t sure I’d ever sounded more cynical. Maybe all it took was one horrid experience to crush a person’s positive spirit.
“I’ve been searching for Cormac for years.”
I shuddered. “That’s his name?”
“Cormac Gallagher.” Vance nodded, taking the photo from the table and returning it to his wallet.
“Who are you?” I locked my gaze with his.
I wasn’t the type of person who could spot lies. Trusting people just felt . . . normal. The default. Except I’d immediately given my trust to that man—Cormac—by the river. I’d assumed he was good.
So maybe it was time I learned to spot untruths. To be wary of those who came into this shop, Vance Sutter included.
“I’m a cop from Coeur d’Alene. Cormac is the main suspect in a murder investigation.”
“Oh.”
Cop. Cormac. Murder. My head was spinning.
“Who did he kill?” Was it another innocent woman out for a hike? How many people had he killed? Had they been strangled?
Vance’s gaze flicked to the table. He stayed quiet.
I knew without asking he wouldn’t answer. Was that better or worse than a lie to my face?
Better.
Except Vance still hadn’t answered my previous question. Why did he think he’d have different luck than Winn, the sheriff and a team of people trained to search this area for missing hikers or hunters? People like my dad and brothers who’d lived here their entire lives?
“What makes you so sure you can find him?”
“I’m not sure.” Honesty coated that baritone voice. “I’ve spent four years following dead-end leads. This might be another. Chances are, he’s long gone. But what if he’s not? That what-if is worth it for me to be here. You’re the first person in years who can confirm Cormac’s whereabouts.”
“Lucky me,” I muttered.
Vance offered a kind smile. “I’m sorry. For what he did, I’m sorry.”
Everyone was sorry. I didn’t need pity. What I needed was that son of a bitch rotting in a prison cell.
“Of all the people I’ve shown that photo, no one could tell me definitely yes or no. A few times, I went after a suspect with a similar description but it turned out to be someone else. I’m here because I know Cormac better than anyone alive. And I’d like him to be punished for what he’s done.”
It was like Vance could read my thoughts. The anger burning in my chest gave his voice a razor-sharp edge. “Me too.”
“Look.” He leaned his forearms on the table, those gray-blue irises brightening with intensity.
They were so light they were almost clear.
Mesmerizing. “I understand if you’d rather not go through it again.
You’ve been through enough. But I’d like to hear from you what happened.
Ask a few questions if you’re up for it. ”
Was I up for it? I took a sip of my tea, the warm liquid easing some of the discomfort in my throat.
Before I’d even made the conscious decision to trust Vance, my mouth opened and the story came pouring out. From Eloise encouraging me to go on a hike, to my panic-fueled drive to the hospital, I gave Vance as many details as I’d given Winn.
My voice was steady. Cold. It was like I was reading a report, not retelling an event in my life. Apparently two days was all it had taken for me to detach from the trauma. Was that good or bad?
When I was finished, silence descended upon the table. A crease formed between Vance’s eyebrows, like he was taking my story and piecing it together with whatever history he had with this Cormac.
“Why did he let me go?” I whispered.
Vance’s gaze snapped to mine. He looked as unsure as I felt. “I don’t know.”
If he really was running from the police, if he really did intend to escape, leaving me alive made no sense. Now I was a witness.
“I have no right to ask this, but I’m going to ask anyway,” he said. “Would you go with me? Show me where this happened?”
My heart seized. “Why?”
“Cormac is not going to be easy to track. It’s why he’s evaded us for so long. The more help you can give me, the better chance I’ll find a trail.”
It should have been an easy no. Vance could sync up with Winn. He could work with the local search and rescue team to explore the area. He didn’t need me as his guide.
And I sure as hell didn’t need to go back there. To relive it in person. The memory was hard enough.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Sutter.” I pushed away from the table, and with my tea in hand, I walked to the counter, passing Crystal as I headed straight for the kitchen. My sanctuary.
The moment I was out of sight, I let out the breath I’d been holding. My heart raced as I planted my hands on my prep table, closing my eyes as a wave of nerves made my stomach roil. It was either from telling Vance my story or just the idea of returning to that spot.
Could I go back? Should I?
“Lyla?”
I opened my eyes at my twin sister’s voice, twisting to the door as Talia rushed inside. She was dressed in blue scrubs. Her baby bump was starting to stretch her top. Not by a lot, but enough that you could tell she was pregnant with my future niece or nephew, who I planned to spoil rotten.
“Are you okay?” She tugged at my scarf, pulling it down to inspect my neck.
“Fine.” I waved her off, taking the damn thing off entirely. It was too hot in the kitchen for a scarf. Tomorrow I’d suffer in a turtleneck instead.
“You pushed too hard today.” Talia’s eyebrows knitted together. She wore the same concern she had since Friday. The same expression I saw on every other face in my family.
I shook my head, not wanting to speak. Talking to Vance had zapped my energy, and my throat was raw and ragged.
“Please, Lyla. Go home. You need to rest.”
I shook my head again, giving her a sad smile.
Talia’s shoulders slumped. The corners of her mouth turned down. Her eyes turned glassy but she didn’t let a tear fall.
My sister didn’t cry in front of others. At least, not often. She had this steel, this incredible strength. Whatever tragedy walked through the ER’s doors at the hospital, she took it in stride.
Me? I was the blubbering mess. Show me a sappy video on social media or tell me a sad story, I’d cry a river next to the espresso machine with a crowd of customers around to watch.
Yet here I was, the dry-eyed sister in the room. Meanwhile, Talia looked like she was about to crack.
“Want to talk about it? Or write it out?” she asked. “To save your voice.”
“No.” I shook my head.
“Are you sure? It might help.”
I shook my head again.
Normally, I harped on Talia to open up and confess her feelings. I encouraged her to talk and air her struggles—she rarely did. Strange, how we’d swapped roles.
Everything felt different. That bastard had tipped our worlds upside down and I just . . . I didn’t want to cry. I didn’t want to be hugged or coddled. I didn’t want to talk.
I wanted justice. I wanted revenge so badly I could barely see straight. And since Winn had yet to apprehend Cormac Gallagher, all I had to keep my sanity intact was work.
So I forced a smile and reached for Talia’s hand, holding it tight when her palm touched mine. Then I let her go and walked to the fridge, taking out the ingredients for cinnamon rolls.
Talia stayed for an hour, watching me work in silence. I sent her home with a to-go container of soup so she and Foster wouldn’t have to cook dinner. Then I spent the rest of the evening alternating between work and answering text messages from my other siblings and parents.
Winn came into the shop ten minutes before we closed at seven. I knew immediately by the look on her pretty face that she wasn’t here to deliver good news.
“Hi.” She pulled me into a tight hug. “You okay?”
“Sure,” I lied. “Find anything?”
Her dark ponytail swished as she shook her head. “I’m sorry. Search and rescue did another sweep of the area with the dogs. They put them on the elk again today, having them track it. But about a mile away from the river, they lost the scent.”
“Shit.” I closed my eyes, disappointment settling like a thousand pounds on my shoulders.
“I’m not giving up.” Winn took my hand. “I promise.”
“I know you won’t,” I whispered.
Winn would do everything in her power for our family. But there was no missing the dark circles beneath her eyes that had been there for weeks. Ever since the shooting at the hotel.
Quincy was supposed to be a safe town. Shootings and strangulations weren’t supposed to happen here. Everything was falling apart.
And Winn took so much of that on herself. Too much.
I wanted, more than anything, for Cormac to be apprehended. But if Winn couldn’t bring him in, how heavy would that weigh on her already burdened heart?
My gaze flicked to the empty table where Vance had sat earlier. What if he was the answer?
“Do you want dinner?” I asked Winn.
“No, that’s okay. Griff called on my way here and said he was making burgers.”
Some of the stress lifted from her face at my brother’s name. I had no doubt she’d go home to the ranch, to his arms and their two children, and the sparkle would return to her deep-blue gaze.
“Want to come out?” she asked. “You could spend the night.”
I shook my head. “I’m going to clean up here, then go home.” A hot, steamy shower might take away some of the pain. Maybe tonight I could actually get some sleep.
“You sure?”
I nodded, looping my arm with hers and walking her to the door.
“We’re all worried about you.”
I sighed. “I’ll be fine.”
“We all know that too. But we’re still going to worry.” Winn pulled me into a hug, then stepped outside, lifting a hand as she climbed into her vehicle.
Waiting until her taillights were two blocks down Main, I shut the door, twisting the lock. Then I shut off half the lights, leaving the others on to illuminate the space as I swept, mopped the floor and stacked chairs.
Crystal had offered to stay and close tonight, but I’d sent her home. Sunday evenings were slow, and after she’d left, not a single customer had come in, allowing me to clean the kitchen space.
It took less than thirty minutes for me to finish closing up. The shop smelled like sugar and vanilla and the citrus polish I used on the hardwoods. I was about to shut off the rest of the lights when I glanced out the front windows.
A tall figure strode down the sidewalk on the opposite side of the street, moving toward the hotel.
Vance.
He walked with his hands buried in his jacket pockets. The streetlamps lit his broad frame. He seemed in no rush, his gaze roving in every direction like he was trying to memorize Quincy. Or maybe he was hoping that if he looked close enough, he’d find a clue that would lead him to Cormac.
Was I that clue?
I flipped the lock on the front door, then I put my fingers to my lips, whistling the way Dad had taught me as a kid.
The noise split the night air.
Vance stopped. Turned.
I nodded.
When he was ready, whether I was or not, I’d take him to the river.