Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
Two hours later, Tate checked the side entrance doors for the hundredth time.
Still locked. His reflection in the glass shifted as he studied the area around the activity center and the woods beyond it.
Both were difficult to see, thanks to the sleet that’d started up again.
Howling winds whipped tree branches back and forth, and icicles hung from the gutters.
He prayed the weather would prevent the killer from acting on his threats, but it would be foolhardy to count on it.
“You guys doing okay?”
“We’re fine. Just like we were half an hour ago. Stop radioing us. We’re sleeping.”
It didn’t sound like he was sleeping. If anything, he sounded tipsy.
Tate hoped that wasn’t the case, but in the past, when Preston and Dylan got together, they partied.
The three women who went with them to Cabin 1, former cheerleaders and friends of Kayla’s, were also fond of having a good time.
Add in the stress of their situation and lots of time with nothing to do…
Tate could easily picture them using alcohol to blow off steam.
He checked in with Dwayne, who also confirmed things were quiet on his end, and then began his patrol again.
Storage closet—empty. Game room—empty. He eased open the door to the media room and peeked inside.
Caleb was curled up on one of the couches, sleeping.
Tate shut the door and continued on. He took the back stairs to the second floor.
Heather, like Caleb, had opted to sleep away from the group.
Her door was cracked open, and a shape in the bed suggested she was asleep.
Tate checked the rest of the rooms, including the closets, but as expected, no one was there.
Every window locked. Every exit secure.
And yet, it didn’t feel like enough.
As he entered the main lobby, the warmth of the fireplace hit his cheeks. Air mattresses were scattered on the floor. Someone snored softly. Evan had pulled an armchair closer to the window and kept watch from it. He gave Tate a salute as he passed by.
Tate nodded in return. Despite his reservations, a part of him was relieved by Evan’s vigilance. Especially since he was doing so in plain view.
He kept his footsteps light as he crossed to the front desk. Annie was there, studying the legal pad he’d filled with names, arrows, and question marks. Stacked next to it was a collection of personnel folders she’d given him to look through.
She held a coffee mug with both hands, as if using it to warm her fingers. Her clothes were relaxed—yoga pants and an oversized sweater—but worry rode the curve of her brow. Tate fought the urge to touch her, to do what he could to ease the stress in her shoulders. “Hey.”
“Hey.” She kept her voice pitched low to prevent waking the others. “Find anything in the personnel files?”
“Nothing of concern. The agency you use runs thorough background checks.” He reached for the top folder and flipped it open.
“Dwayne’s background also checks out, according to your records, but there are gaps in his work history, especially before he came to work for Haven Ranch.
I tried to run him through the system, but the internet is too spotty thanks to the storm. ”
“He’s been working here for years. Long before I bought the place.
The previous owners had nothing but wonderful things to say about him.
When his background check came back clear, I didn’t think twice about keeping him on, even with the gaps in his work history.
” She blew out a breath. “I find it difficult to believe he’s involved in these attacks, but I know we need to be thorough. ”
The satellite phone on the desk vibrated, the screen lighting up with Grady’s number. Finally! Tate scooped up the device and answered it. “Whatcha got?”
Annie moved closer, and Tate shifted the phone so she could hear as well.
“I’m emailing you information on Seth Morrison’s brother, Marcus,” Grady said.
“Decorated veteran, former Green Beret. Honorably discharged six years ago after being wounded overseas. No criminal history besides the occasional parking ticket. Unmarried, no kids. He drives a 2024 Chevy Silverado, and his current address is in Alamosa, Colorado. I’ve contacted the police department there, asked them to verify Marcus’s whereabouts, but they haven’t gotten back to me yet. ”
Tate pulled out his cell phone. Two bars. Might be enough to check his email. He navigated to the app. “What about Seth’s dad?”
“I handled that.” Luke’s voice grew louder, as if he’d moved closer to the phone.
“Jeb Morrison was released from the Colorado Department of Corrections fifteen years ago, and his whereabouts are unknown. He was convicted of manslaughter. Rebecca Young, an eighty-year-old grandmother, died when he ran a red light at close to a hundred miles per hour and hit her car broadside. Jeb was highly intoxicated, and seeing that it was his second DWI, the prosecutor pushed for second-degree murder. Jeb plead to manslaughter and was paroled after serving fifteen years. He completed two years of supervision, and then poof. Vanished.” Frustration clipped his words.
“I can’t find a record of him anywhere.”
Suspicious. Maybe Tate had been too quick to dismiss the idea of Seth’s dad being involved. “How old is Jeb?”
“He’s seventy. I doubt he’s your killer, unless he’s in excellent shape, but he could be the mastermind. Jeb and Marcus working together, maybe?”
“Maybe.” Tate found the email his fellow rangers sent and clicked on it. The page started to load, but slowly. “But how would they get everyone’s contact information? How are they keeping tabs on our whereabouts?” Those were the questions he couldn’t get past. “What about other relatives?”
“Seth didn’t have any. No cousins, no other siblings.
” Grady coughed and then cleared his throat.
“Sorry. Think I caught a cold the kids have been passing around. Anyway, we also started running background checks on the reunion guests. Caleb Riggins has been arrested a few times for assault. Looks like some bar fights. They were either dismissed or pleaded down to misdemeanors. Evan and Brooke Hastings are clean.” Paper rustled over the line.
“Preston Colson is also clean. That’s as far as I’ve gotten.
I’ll keep running through the list and update you ASAP. ”
“Thanks, guys. Good work.” Tate hung up. He stared at his phone. Still loading.
“What do you think?” Annie asked. She picked up her mug from the desk and took a sip. “Marcus has to be involved, right? Everything we learn about him points in that direction.”
“It makes the most sense.” Tate eyed her cup. “Is that coffee?”
“Yep. Want me to get you some?”
“No thanks. I’ll grab a cup after we look at this email. If it ever loads.” He stifled a yawn.
She extended toward him. A hint of pink rose in her cheeks. “I drink it black.”
The intimacy of her gesture was not lost on him. Tate accepted the mug and sipped, nearly humming with satisfaction. “This is good. Did you make it?”
“I did.”
He grinned. “You’ll have to teach me your tricks. Mine usually tastes like mud.”
She huffed a laugh, that adorable blush creeping higher.
Tate took another sip and returned her cup.
Their fingers brushed, and the brief contact made him want more.
The incident with the tree branch and the shattered window drove home how precarious their situation was, and the follow-up text had been disturbing.
He’d put his life on the line to save anyone—it was his duty—but the idea of the killer coming after Annie… it terrified him.
He wanted to pull her into his arms and hold her until this was over. But he held back. Annie needed time and space to sort out her feelings, and he’d give her as long as it took.
Details about Marcus finally appeared on his phone, along with an image.
He scanned the information and then focused on the photograph taken from his Colorado driver’s license.
Marcus was clean-shaven, with a thin mouth and a hooked nose.
Blue eyes. A faint scar ran along the curve of his cheek. His dark hair was peppered with gray.
Tate tilted his head. Something about Marcus was familiar. He turned the phone to give Annie a better look. “Do you know him?”
She studied the image and then shook her head. “I’ve never seen him before.” She pressed a hand to her ribcage and breathed out. “Thank God. He’s not a member of my staff.”
“No.”
Tate scrolled down and read Jeb’s information.
Luke hadn’t left out anything valuable, and he’d included a booking photo.
Based on the date, it’d been taken on the same day Jeb was arrested.
He looked intoxicated. His eyes were hooded, nearly closed.
A thick beard obscured most of his face, and his dark hair was wild.
He and Marcus shared the same hooked nose and pale skin tone.
Once again, something in Jeb’s face struck Tate as familiar. He stared at the image.
“What is it?” Annie asked, drawing close enough her shoulder brushed against his.
“I don’t know. Both Marcus and Jeb look familiar, but I can’t place why.” He tapped the phone, setting the images next to each other. The family resemblance was strong, even with Jeb’s overgrown beard.
“They look like Seth.” Annie’s tone carried a note of sadness. “It’s the nose. And Marcus has his chin and eyes.”
Maybe that was it. Still, Tate called Grady back using the satellite phone. “Any chance you or Luke could hunt down a more recent image of Jeb? This one is thirty years old.”
“Already working on it. Luke called the prison, told them it’s urgent, and they’re processing the request. We’re hoping to have it within the hour.” Grady breathed out. “Hold on, I’ve got another call.”
The line went quiet. Tate stole another sip from Annie’s coffee, and she made a show of pulling it away from him. He chuckled. She laid her head on his shoulder and studied the pictures of Marcus and Jeb. The small gesture tugged at his heartstrings.
Grady came back on the line. “Okay, that was the Alamosa PD. They went and knocked on Marcus’s door, but he didn’t answer. They talked to a few of the neighbors and were told Marcus went on an extended trip last week. You’ll never guess who he said he’s visiting.”
Tate glanced down at the photographs on his phone, his stomach constricting. “His father.”
“Bingo.”