Chapter 7
SEVEN
Branches whipped Tate’s face as he tore through the dense thicket.
The frigid air scraped his lungs raw. Whoever he was chasing was in decent shape, but the ground was slippery from last night’s storm.
He’d traded his cowboy boots for hiking boots with better tread, and that gave him an advantage.
Keeping his quarry in sight, Tate closed the gap.
The runner wore jeans and a wool cap. Tate snagged the hood of the man’s jacket and yanked, tipping him backward. The man crashed to the ground. Chest heaving, Tate leveled his gun. “Texas Ranger. Hands where I can see them.”
“Don’t shoot!” Hands flew into the air, and the man twisted to look at him. Preston Colson. His face was red and slick with sweat. “What the—”
“On your feet and keep your hands where I can see them.”
Preston clambered up, anger flashing in his eyes even as his fingers shook. “This is crazy. You can’t just—”
Crashing in the woods alerted Tate to new trouble.
Somone was coming, fast. His gaze shot to the trees just as Annie burst into the small clearing.
She carried her own handgun at the ready.
Her eyes widened as she took in the scene, and her expression hardened.
“What are you doing running through the woods, Preston?”
“Is that against the law now?” The smart-mouthed retort was typical of Preston, but the tremble in his voice betrayed his fear. His throat bobbed. “Look, I didn’t do anything. Everyone needs to calm down.”
“We are calm.” Tate glanced at Annie. His pulse kicked. She’d come after him. He shouldn’t think too much of it—she was former law enforcement—but somehow, it mattered. “Cover me.”
She gave a sharp nod, and Tate holstered his weapon. He grabbed Preston’s arm and spun him toward a tree, patting him down. No weapon. Tate took a step back. “Why were you running through the woods? And this time, curb the attitude and try telling the truth.”
Preston’s shoulders sagged. “I saw you guys out there…and Kayla…” He licked his lips.
“Listen, I haven’t done anything wrong. I was cutting through the woods to get to Cabin 5.
I left my cell phone there last night, and I really need to get it.
When I saw…” He blinked hard, as if fighting tears.
“I saw Kayla on the ground and I knew she was dead. I freaked out and ran. That’s it, man. ”
“You were with Kayla last night.”
Tate didn’t pose it as a question, but Preston still nodded. “For a little while.” He shifted. “I really need my cell phone. My fiancée has probably called and texted a dozen times already. She’ll be worried if I don’t respond.”
“You have a fiancée and you slipped away from the party with Kayla?” The derision in Annie’s tone was unmistakable. Preston bristled.
“Nothing happened,” he snapped. “We were just talking.”
“And yet she ended up dead. Murdered.”
His cheeks flushed. “What are you saying? That I had something to do with it?”
Annie stared him down. “Did you?”
“No.”
His denial was adamant, but Tate didn’t trust Preston an inch.
He was a practiced liar, always had been, even in high school.
But continuing to push on this line of questioning would only increase Preston’s ire.
Taking a different tack, Tate placed a reassuring hand on his former friend’s shoulder.
“Of course you wouldn’t hurt Kayla. Come on, let’s find your cell phone. ”
Relief smoothed his features. “Thanks, man.”
The three of them walked back through the woods to the cabins.
Annie’s expression was hard, and she refused to meet Tate’s eyes.
His heart sank. Surely she knew he wasn’t buying Preston’s explanation.
It was a common interrogation technique to lull the suspect into thinking everything was fine. People talked more when that happened.
Preston blanched when he saw Kayla lying on the icy ground. “What happened?”
“We don’t know yet.” Tate led him in a wide arc around the log, keeping him clear of the crime scene.
“Had to be that guy who attacked Annie in the parking lot last night.” Preston’s jaw clenched. “Someone followed Kayla here.”
Tate didn’t reply. Was Preston suggesting a motive for Kayla’s death to hide his own culpability? Or did he genuinely believe it?
The door to the cabin at the end of the row opened, and Caleb Riggins stepped out. The quiet guy who’d always sat in the back of their history class looked startled to see them.
Tate jerked his chin toward Caleb. “Annie, can you keep him away from the crime scene while I help Preston?”
“Sure.” She jogged away.
Was it his imagination, or was Annie relieved to get some distance from him?
Tate and Preston continued to Cabin 5. Plastic cups rested on the coffee table, one with bright red lipstick on the rim. Glass glittered across the tile floor, a light brown stain coating the wall opposite the couch. The scent of tequila hung thick.
Preston dove for the couch, rooting between the cushions until he came up with his phone. “Found it. Must’ve slipped out of my pocket.” He unlocked the screen and winced. “Jeez, she’s sent a million messages.”
Suspicious? His fiancée had reason to be. She was with a cheat. Tate crossed his arms and leaned one shoulder against the doorjamb. “Does she know that you and Kayla were talking before the reunion?”
Preston’s head snapped up, and his eyes narrowed. “Who told you that?”
No one had. Tate had guessed his old friend hadn’t changed much since high school, and Preston was proving him right. The man had never been loyal, especially to his girlfriends. He’d cheated on Kayla dozens of times, which had caused fiery arguments. “How long have you been planning this hookup?”
Preston’s mouth thinned. “It’s not what you think.”
“What do I think?”
“That I cheated on my fiancée with Kayla. But I didn’t. Jessica and I have an arrangement. A don’t-ask-don’t-tell kind of thing.” He tapped on the phone screen, replying to a message. “It works for us.”
If that were true, his fiancée wouldn’t be sending frantic messages. And Preston wouldn’t be this desperate to reply. Still, Tate was willing to play along. “I assume Kayla knew about the arrangement and was okay with it?”
Guilt flitted over Preston’s face before he could hide it. He clicked his phone off. “Yeah, man.”
“Uh-huh. So…” Tate gestured toward the smashed liquor bottle. “What was the fight about?”
Preston said nothing, but his hand gripped the phone hard enough to turn his knuckles white. And Tate knew. “Your fiancée called. Or texted. Or both. And Kayla got mad.”
“Got mad? Man, she freaked out. Started screaming and threw the tequila bottle. I’m always up for a good time and a bit of crazy, but that was over the top.” His jaw set. “She knew the score. I never lied to her. No woman is worth that much trouble. So I left.”
“With Kayla?”
“No. I stormed off and left her here. Joined the guys in my cabin, had a few drinks, and then went to bed. You can ask Dylan. He’ll tell you.”
Dylan McCrae was one of their classmates. He and Preston had been inseparable, and at seventeen, Dylan wouldn’t have hesitated to lie for Preston. Would he still? Tate had no idea how close the two men were anymore. “What time did you leave this cabin to go back to yours?”
He shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe a little after 11:30.”
He still could’ve killed Kayla. Preston had a temper. Tate had never seen him manhandle a woman, but given the right circumstances…If Kayla had threatened to tell Preston’s fiancée about what happened…if she got physical with him…yeah, Tate could see Preston reacting badly.
Preston’s phone chimed. He glanced at the screen and swore under his breath. “I gotta call her, man. She’s upset.”
Tate straightened. He’d gotten enough for now. None of them were going anywhere, and with bad weather coming in, he needed to prioritize processing the crime scene. “Let’s go.”
They stepped back outside. A small group had gathered at the edge of the path leading toward the activity center. Shock, grief, and morbid curiosity marked their faces. Annie was holding them back, but Caleb spotted Preston and broke away.
“What did you do?” Caleb crossed the distance in four strides and shoved Preston hard enough to rock him. “What did you do to her?”
Like a volcano, Preston erupted, shoving Caleb several paces back. “I didn’t do anything, Riggins.”
“You killed her!”
They were seconds away from becoming an all-out brawl. Tate got between the two men. “Stop.”
Caleb ignored him. “You selfish, stupid—”
Preston cursed and tried to step around Tate.
Evan rushed in, grabbing Preston’s arm, while Tate flattened a hand dead center of Caleb’s chest. Caleb’s body vibrated with fury, his hands balled into fists.
In high school, he’d been scrawny. Not anymore.
His shoulders were nearly as broad as Tate’s, and although he was a full head shorter, he was packed with muscle.
Evan steered Preston away. Caleb tried to move around Tate, but Tate blocked him again.
“Calm down, Caleb.” Tate’s tone brooked no argument.
Tears filmed Caleb’s eyes. “He never cared about her. He used her. And now she’s dead.”
He crumpled. Tate’s hand held him up. Caleb’s cabin sat in plain sight of the log where Kayla had been lying all night.
Whatever he’d seen, whatever he’d heard, Tate needed it.
But a raindrop hit his cheek. He gritted his teeth and looked up at the darkening sky.
They were running out of time. “Go to the main lodge with the others. Stay away from Preston. I’ll be there soon to talk to you. ”
Caleb sucked in a breath. “He killed her, Tate.”
“Do you know that for certain?”
“Who else would it be?” He broke away and marched toward the path leading to the lodge, passing Annie with barely a glance.
Another icy raindrop struck Tate’s face as he turned back toward Kayla’s body. Preston was the obvious suspect. He’d been with Kayla. They’d fought. He’d left her alone and vulnerable. But Tate’s gaze caught on the purple garland, on the Raven Hills pennant clutched in her stiff fingers.
Preston had been drunk, angry, and impulsive. This murder was calculated. Staged. Personal in a way that went beyond a lover’s quarrel.
Whoever killed Kayla hadn’t acted in rage.
They’d been planning this.
The real question was why?