Chapter 1
1
ALTA
S omeone was watching me.
I felt it everywhere. From the hairs standing along the back of my sweaty neck to the unease growing in my gut, I felt it. Keeping my fast pace, I raced down the final stretch of the rocked path around Lily Lake. Heart pounding, my already rapid breaths came faster and faster, forming gray puffs of smoke in the cool late-morning mountain air.
Desperate to find the source, I cut my eyes right and then left, scanning the rocky terrain with as much scrutiny as possible while not tripping over my own two feet or running off the path directly into the lake.
But I found nothing.
Not even a single scurry of a chipmunk or slithering snake. But the person setting off all my internal alarms could be lurking anywhere. Because there was someone out there watching. This time I was right.
This time it wasn’t in my head.
My frayed nerves urged a hand toward my hip belt, where I kept all the needed self-defense tools for a single woman on a solo run. After unzipping the small pouch, I tugged out one of the larger mace canisters. The cold metal bit into my already frozen hands but grew warmer in my firm grasp with each pounding step.
If I could only make it to the truck, get to Benny, I’d be safe. Damnit, I wish I didn’t mind breaking the park rules and had brought him out here with me. But being a part of the Rocky Mountain Park police force meant I did care about the rules and knew them inside and out. Plus, I wouldn’t want Benny to be tempted to chase after a moose or, even worse, his smaller frame draw the attention of a hungry bear in search of its next meal.
But right now I’d love to have his overly protective instincts and fierce bite by my side.
A steady crunch of gravel beneath pounding feet reached my ears.
Crap. Crap. Crap.
It was most definitely not in my head. Someone was behind me, and gaining ground quickly.
One hundred more yards until the parking lot.
All I had to do was make it one hundred more yards without being kidnapped or killed.
The sweat beading along my brow dripped down my temples and cheeks. A quick blast of wind, too cold for October, chilled my skin, making me shiver. An hour ago, when I dressed for the run, I didn’t account for the sudden drop in temperatures last night. Which was why I looked a bit crazy out here running in only tights and a thin dry-fit T-shirt. If I paid attention to the weather, I would’ve also worn my running hat, gloves, and jacket, maybe even tossed in some of those hand warmer packets into my pouch. It could be eighty out here and I’d still be in a jacket and scarf.
Another crunch of gravel a few feet back drew my attention back to the situation at hand. This time I didn’t stop from turning to get a quick look over my shoulder. What I found made my heart drop.
Whipping my head forward, I pumped both arms faster, attempting to put additional space between myself and the person chasing me.
At least seeing the man dressed in an all-black running suit confirmed it wasn’t in my head like yesterday, and the day before that. Well, unless I’d dropped to a new level of crazy and had moved up to hallucinating.
Despite the cold and the man eager to kill me, I laughed at that thought. Maybe I had sunk to a new level of crazy. I mean, all-consuming anxiety and paranoia would do that to a woman, I’m sure.
Finally at the bend, I dashed full speed into the parking lot, my frozen fingers fumbling in my pack for the key fob. Once it was in my grasp, I pressed the unlock button repeatedly, making the headlights of the truck flash like a seventies disco. Out of breath, I faltered on tired legs as I lunged for the driver side door handle. The moment I had the door open, Benny leaped from the driver seat onto the pavement. I waited for him to run after the man, but instead he sniffed a few of the bushes, peed on one he deemed fit, and trotted back to sit at my feet.
“Seriously?” I said between pants. “I’m in mortal danger.”
Benny’s head whipped in the direction of the trailhead, a low growl rumbling in his chest, just as the man who’d chased me came into view. Every muscle tensed as I palmed the mace tighter, readying to spring into action if needed.
But I didn’t.
Of course I didn’t. Like always.
The stranger in black continued on his run, not even slowing his impressive pace to glance into the parking lot. Benny watched with little interest as he passed by. As the runner’s form faded down the path, Benny turned back with a slight tilt of his head, giving me the eye he always gave when I got myself worked up about nothing.
Backside pressed against the hard metal of the truck, I leaned forward, gripping both knees. While I sucked down deep, gulping inhales in an attempt to calm myself down before a full-blown panic attack set in, Benny sat patiently, tail wagging along the blacktop.
It was getting worse. I was getting worse.
A short, high-pitched whine drew my attention back to the beautiful dog before me. Squatting, putting us nose-to-nose, I scratched down his thick, furry chest, giving him the love he deserved.
“I know, I know,” I said as Benny’s long tongue licked up my cold cheek. “I’m losing it. You don’t have to give me that look.” And like he always did, he gave the ‘you need to get out more’ look with his deep brown eyes. “I will, I promise. One day. Maybe we could find you a friend too.” I swear his eyebrows narrowed. With a huffed laugh I shoved off the ground. “Come on, Benny Boy, let's get home.”
Loading the 110-pound German shepherd into the truck’s small cab was easy; making us both fit was where the challenge came in. After Benny was situated, I climbed in and locked the doors.
And locked them again.
And like always, I locked them again—you know, in case the first and second click didn’t work.
With us secured from the outside world, I buckled Benny in and turned the key. The small engine rumbled to life with ease. Foot against the gas pedal, I pressed down slowly, revving the engine in hopes it would cause the heat to kick on sooner than later, and then pulled out of the parking lot, headed for home.
“Okay, we have two hours before I start my next shift,” I said to Benny once we were through the cabin door. Once, twice, and a third time, I flicked the multiple deadbolts before hooking the mace on the key ring, slid the knife from my calf into a similar holster tacked to the wall beside the mace, and placed my gun on the entry table. Throat burning from the run and cold air, I shuffled toward the kitchen while blowing hot puffs of breath into my still-chilled, somewhat blue hands. In front of the sink, I squatted and pulled open the cabinet door. Reaching into the dark depths blindly, I wiggled my fingers until the tips brushed against the chilled plastic bottle I searched for.
Hand along the counter’s edge, I hoisted myself off the floor. Staring at the clear water bottle, I carefully inspected the seal under the cap, ensuring each plastic bit was still intact. As I screwed off the lid, the faint crack of the thin plastic snapping free provided enough reassurance that no one had tampered with it while I was out. Greedily I downed half the bottle as I walked toward the only bathroom in my tiny cabin. I chugged the final few ounces from the bottle of water, set it on the vanity to toss in the recycling bin later, and reached past the shower curtain to flick the nozzle for the shower all the way to the right.
The running clothes had dried, but my skin felt clammy as I shrugged out of the T-shirt and yanked off my leggings. Steam billowed from above the floral shower curtain, filling the space with its humid warmth as I leaned closer to the mirror.
The dark circles beneath my eyes turned the greenish hazel iris a shade darker than normal. At least being outdoors most days gave my fair skin the opportunity to look sun-kissed, bringing out the natural tan freckles along my nose and cheekbones. My strawberry-blonde hair shimmered in the bright fluorescent light, making the varying natural hues pop.
From the outside, I looked like any other sleep-deprived, early thirties woman.
On the inside was a different story. That was where my scars hid. All left by one delusional man. One man who, even after his death, impacted every move I made, every thought I had.
Releasing a calming, shaky breath, I reached across to lock the bathroom door. Once. Twice. And of course a third time. Again I considered my reflection. What would I do if three wasn’t enough to calm my intense paranoia? Would it stop at four? Five? Even the anti-anxiety medications weren’t working anymore. Only my stubborn, overactive mind would scoff at the pharmaceutical company’s attempt to alter its thought patterns. It was a blessing and a curse being so headstrong; I made it out alive because of it, yet sat here paralyzed by it too.
Stepping into the shower, I centered my thoughts on the nearly scalding water warming my chilled skin, letting it dissolve the memories eager to rise from the dark corners of my mind. Soothing scents of jasmine and lavender infiltrated my senses, regulating my breathing and lowering my pulse to a healthier level. In here, behind the locked front door, inside the cabin with film-protected windows, with a dog capable of ripping out a grown man’s jugular—and enjoying it—with a hidden can of mace dangling from the shower head, I relaxed.
Even if I wasn’t 100 percent safe, because no one ever was, the false sense of security all those measures provided allowed fifteen minutes of calmed breathing, regular pulse rates, and, on occasion, remembering happy memories. Sometimes I’d even let myself think about a future. Those thoughts typically involved me happy, safe, and not so alone.
But that was the tricky part. The fact that I had the urge to vomit anytime someone touched me was a significant roadblock to my happily ever after.
Outside the shower curtain, the screech of the cell phone ringing yanked me back to reality. Excess water flicked against the mirror as I shook off one hand to answer the call and turn it to speakerphone.
“Hey, John,” I said as I ducked back under the hot spray.
“What the hell is that noise? Are you in the shower?”
My hands stilled where they were massaging my left calf. “Um, yeah.” Answering the phone while in the shower wasn’t the brightest idea, considering my boss was a guy. But we were so close after working together this long, sometimes his anatomy slipped my mind.
“Seriously, Birdie. That’s really….”
“Unprofessional,” I finished for him with a sigh.
“Distracting. Hey, I need you to stop by the ranger station as soon as you can. We have a missing woman on our hands, and I need you out there. Now.”
“See you in fifteen,” I responded, now working double time on rinsing the excess soap from my legs.
“And do me a favor.”
“Yeah?” I smiled behind the curtain. No way would he let this offense go without some jab or innuendo.
“Think about me while you finish.”
I barked a laugh. Yes, he was my boss, but he was a friend first. We were somewhat partners before his promotion last year to managing the entire park police team. All in all, we had 30 officers for the more than 265,000-acre park. We took care of the animals, maintained order on the trails and campsites, and managed the ever-growing crowds on a daily basis. It was a thankless job, but a gratifying one.
As I shut off the water, I thought back to what John said on the call. A missing hiker wasn’t surprising, it happened often, but that wasn’t the word he used. He’d said missing woman .
Odd indeed.
I wrapped the warmed towel around my torso and swung the door open, releasing a massive cloud of steam into the small cabin. From his oversized bed, Benny watched with a raised brow as I hurried through to the bedroom. In record time, I was dressed in a pressed uniform, still-wet hair tied back in a tight bun at the nape of my neck, and hat situated. After securing the tactical belt around my hips, I tossed a treat across the room to Benny.
“I’ll be back later. Do you need to go potty before I go?”
In response, he stood, swiveled in his bed to put his lean backside to me, and lay down with an annoyed humph.
“Fine, then. No raiding the pantry while I’m gone either. Last time you got into the Frosted Flakes, your toots stunk me out for a week.”
Yes, I was having a conversation with a dog.
And yes, I truly believed he understood.
All animal lovers did. Which I was to the extreme, if you believed what others said. Which was why I went to college for wildlife management. I wanted to follow in my father’s footsteps and become a Texas game warden.
But that never happened. No, one man, one deranged man, snuffed out my dream and pushed me from the beautiful state I once called home. Made me move thousands of miles away from my family and friends just to find a sliver of peace.
One day I’d move on.
One day I’d feel safe again. Trust again. Live again.
One day.
I’d worked several crime scenes in this park and in the Smokies over the last few years, but this one felt different the minute I pulled up. Yellow tape marked off a small section of the picnic area, while across the way the Search and Rescue team hunkered around a map, all fierce-faced as they formed their plans. I stepped out of the park-issued truck and scanned the scene again, hoping to pick up any subtleties I missed initially. In a master’s class I audited last fall, I learned to see what no one else saw, to pick up on the minute details that seemed ordinary until you zeroed in.
Three minutes I stayed by the truck, warmed by my heavy park police jacket, to observe the crowd. A few visitors gawked from their picnic tables, whispering to each other, probably trying to guess what was happening. To their right, five young kids chased a scurrying group of overactive chipmunks, squealing every so often when one got too close.
A booming, angry voice carried through the crowd, drawing my attention from the kids to the massive man surrounded by three teenage boys, towering over a volunteer ranger with a shaking fist.
That had to be the husband of… I looked down to my notepad to jog my memory.
Right, Christina Brown—the missing woman.
After mentally cataloging every detail of the scene, I lunged over the short wooden railing separating the picnic area from the parking lot to join the group. The quick flash of relief in the ranger’s eyes when I approached wasn’t difficult to miss.
I cleared my throat of the building knot and extended my hand between us. Dang, he was even bulkier up close. “Sir, I’m Officer Alta Johnson.” His massive hand wrapped around mine and squeezed. Careful not to show a wince, I yanked my hand back and clasped both behind my back. “Our division manager read me up on what happened, but I’d like to hear your version.”
“Where’s my wife?” he growled. An angry snarl curled the right corner of his upper lip.
“Sir,” I said calmly. “I promise you we’re working on it, doing all we can at this point. I would like to hear from you what happened.”
Strong tatted arms crossed over his broad chest. “The boys and I went on a hike over?—”
“Which trail?” I cut in.
“That one.” He pointed toward the Grand Ditch trailhead several yards away.
While still staring toward the trail, I nodded and motioned for him to keep going.
“We were gone for like four hours?—”
“Why didn’t your wife go with you?”
His frustration fell as a sad, wistful smile pulled at the corners of his lips. “Hiking is our thing,” he said, motioning between him and the three boys. “Reading was hers. She loved coming out here and giving us time alone while she got some alone time of her own. They can be a pain in the ass?— “
“Dad,” the shortest one grumbled.
I bit back the smile that wanted to erupt at the kid’s typical teenage sulking. We had a lot of those here. They weren’t the first family to come to the Rockies to yank their kids away from their cell phones and iPads.
“Where are y’all from?”
“Denver. We came out last week. Been hiking every day since we arrived.”
“Ever hiked this trail?”
“No, we’ve been to a new trail every day.”
Hidden behind my back, I worked the cuticles of my thumbs as I processed his story, adding to the details John gave me in the briefing.
“Do you think she would’ve left on her own?”
A flash of annoyance and fury blazed across his features. Standing tall, he rolled his shoulders back and cracked his neck, clearly uncomfortable with what my question was referencing. Out of caution and self-preservation, I backed up a step and rested a hand on my sidearm.
His eyes narrowed at my hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”
“I’m not scared.” But I still wasn’t planning on removing my hand from the proximity of the gun.
“She wouldn’t have left us. And I’m a cop in Denver. She’s heard the stories I’ve brought home. She knows not to talk to strange men, knows how to defend herself. Christina wouldn’t have gone anywhere willingly.” Strong hands gripped my shoulders. Revulsion at his touch, the closeness sent my heart racing. I held in a deep breath, counting in my head to remain calm. “Find her. Please. I know the statistics. We have to find her soon. You have to find her. She’s our everything.” The crack in his voice sounded sincere. One thing was for sure—whatever happened to his wife, this man had nothing to do with it.
“Birdie,” John’s strong voice called at my back. Sliding his hands from me, the man shifted his focus over my shoulder. “I need you for a moment.”
Steeling my spine, I turned to face John. “I just finished getting his statement. We have what I need.” Turning back to the man, I stuck out my hand once again. “I’ll be back, Mr. Brown.”
Within two steps, John was at my side, keeping pace with my long strides. “He wasn’t hurting me,” I whispered.
John sighed and looked to the sky. “I know, but….”
I stopped midstride and turned with raised brows. “But what?”
He paused to look back at the man and his kids. “Birdie, we’ve been side by side for years. Don’t you think you flinching or nearly hyperventilating every time we happen to touch would be something a good officer like me would notice?”
“I thought I hid it well enough,” I grumbled.
“Not so much. Listen, I respect it. I hate it, but I respect it all the same because I know the reason why.”
“Hate it?” Playing the na?ve card was bad form, but I didn’t want to dive into John’s feelings right now.
“Forget it. Come on, let's go talk to Search and Rescue to see where they’re going to start the search.”
Back in motion, we walked in silence for several feet before I spoke up.
“I have a weird feeling about this one, Johnny Boy. Something isn’t adding up. Women don’t disappear around here without due cause. My initial thought was she ditched the family, but after talking to the husband, seeing the kids, my gut is telling me she didn’t leave them. She wouldn’t. Something happened to her, I can feel it.”
“Feel it?” John said in disbelief.
“Yeah. Call it a sixth sense or whatever, but I know when something isn’t adding up or when something is out of place. This is it. But if she didn’t leave on her own….”
“Then someone took her unwillingly.”
His words fell around us like a heavy, somber cloud.
A burst of cold wind had me gripping the sides of the down coat and pulling them tighter together for more protection. Around us, the hustle of the Search and Rescue team gearing up overtook the calming nature sounds. The hairs on the back of my neck stood tall, and a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold racked my shoulders.
I closed my eyes and took a slow, deep breath in.
No one was watching me.
There was no one there.
While scanning from the dense forest to the wide stream, I offered up a quick prayer for Christina Brown that if she were, in fact, abducted, not lost or hadn’t run off on her own, that she was already dead.
That was my gift to her.