Chapter Two

Zach sat in the gray-walled interview room at the sheriff's department, gaze fixed on the unopened bottle of water in front of him, but all he saw was Camille. Not the pale, dead woman who had lain on that litter, but Camille as she had been in life—smiling, quick-witted, so smart it took his breath away. Losing her had been the worst thing that had ever happened to him. Was it true that she had been alive all this time and he hadn't known it? That she had died again so close to him and he hadn't been aware that she was here?

The door to the interview room opened, and Sheriff Walker and his brother, Sergeant Gage Walker, entered. "How are you holding up?" Gage asked. A little taller than his brother, the more outgoing of the two, Gage rested a comforting hand on Zach's shoulder. "Do you want some coffee or something?"

Zach shook his head. "No thanks." He looked to Travis. "Can you tell me what's going on?"

Travis slid out a chair across from Zach and sat, while Gage leaned against the wall behind him. "Maybe you can help us fill in some gaps," the sheriff said. "You say your sister's name was Camille?"

"That's right. Camille Louise Gregory."

"How old was she?" Travis asked.

"She was two years older than me," Zach said. "She was twenty-six when we buried her."

"The driver's license we found says this woman was thirty," Travis said.

"That's how old Camille would have been now." Zach massaged his forehead, trying to subdue the pain pounding there. "I don't understand any of this. What was she doing at that campground? And you said she was in a van?"

"The driver's license in her purse identified her as Claire Watson," Travis said. "Does that name mean anything to you?"

"No. I've never heard it before."

"You said you last saw your sister four years ago. At her funeral. So you saw her actual body?"

"No. It was a closed casket. The officers..." He swallowed past the knot in his throat. "The officers who found her body, and the funeral home people, said it would be better that way. But they were sure it was Camille. And my parents identified the body."

"How did your sister die?" Gage asked.

"She was murdered."

The brothers exchanged a look he couldn't decipher. "Who murdered her?" Travis asked.

Zach took a deep breath, though it was hard, as if someone sat on his chest. "The case is officially unsolved, but she was probably killed by one of the Chalk brothers or someone they hired." At the sheriff's puzzled look, he added, "They're a family in Houston, where we're from. Wealthy businessmen, but they're crooks. You can check with the FBI. They have a file on the Chalk family."

"Why would they kill your sister?" Gage asked.

"She had agreed to testify against them. Two of the brothers—Charlie and Christopher—were charged in the murder of a district court judge. Camille was there that night, at the restaurant where it happened. She testified about what she saw, but the brothers were acquitted." He shook his head. That whole ordeal had been a blur, and time hadn't clarified his memory.

"And you think the Chalk brothers were responsible for your sister's death?"

"That's what the FBI told us they suspected, though there was no evidence they could use to convict the brothers of the crime. They said she was gunned down leaving work—another restaurant job. My parents went to identify the body, and we had the funeral—so how did she turn up here, in Colorado, four years later?"

"You're sure this woman is your sister?" Travis asked. "You couldn't have made a mistake?"

"Camille had a tattoo like that—the butterfly with the name Laney. What are the odds that another woman would have that same tattoo in the same location?"

"Who was Laney?" Gage asked.

"Our sister. Camille's twin. She died when the girls were eleven. Meningitis."

Both brothers were still looking at him like they didn't believe him. "Check with the FBI," Zach said. "I'm sure every bit of this is in Camille's file."

"Does the name Carla Drinkwater mean anything to you?" Travis asked.

"No. Who is she?"

"The van this woman was driving was rented under the name Carla Drinkwater. She had a second driver's license in that name."

He felt dizzy again, like he was falling. He grabbed the bottle of water, twisted off the lid and drank. When he set the bottle down again, his head was a little clearer. "How did she die?" he asked. "I heard something about a tree falling on the van."

"We were waiting to hear back from the medical examiner's preliminary exam," Travis said. "Apparently this woman—Carla or Claire or Camille—was stabbed in the chest. She had been dead several hours by the time that tree fell. I've got deputies out talking to as many of the campers who were in that area as we can find, to try to determine if any of them saw anyone else near her campsite."

"None of this makes sense," Zach said. "You're telling me my sister was murdered—twice?"

"We're still not certain this woman was your sister," Travis said. "How could she be, if your sister died four years ago?"

"I don't know the answer to that," Zach said. "But I'm sure this was Camille. I know my own sister. Can't you get dental records? Or DNA? You can compare it to my DNA. Or my parents—" He stopped. "Have you contacted my parents?"

"Where are your parents?" Gage asked.

"They live in Junction. They came here not long after Camille...after we thought we had buried her. To make a fresh start."

"But you've only been here a few months," Travis said.

They must have checked out his background. Or maybe one of his fellow SAR volunteers had mentioned he was new to the group. "Nine months. I moved around a little before I came here to be closer to my parents." He should have stayed with them all along, but he had been so torn up about Camille. It had been a long time before he had been able to think straight and realize he had a duty to look after his parents. He was all they had left. "You need to let me break this to them," he said. "But not until we figure out what's going on."

"Until we have a positive identification, we don't see the need to involve anyone else," Travis said.

"Good." Zach nodded. "They've been through enough." Losing Laney had crushed them. Losing Camille fifteen years later had almost destroyed them.

"Is there anything else you can tell us about your sister that might help us identify her or her killer?" Travis asked. "Do you have any idea why she was in Eagle Mountain?"

"I don't know," he said. "Unless she was here to see me." He swallowed again, fighting a surge of emotion. "Camille and I were close. Especially after Laney died." After her funeral, he had struggled to accept that she was gone from his life.

He had told himself at the time he was indulging in wishful thinking. But apparently, he hadn't been entirely wrong. Camille hadn't been dead then. So was she really gone now?

S PECIAL A GENT S HELBY D R YDEN ' S first thought upon meeting Camille's brother at his home in Eagle Mountain was that the photograph in Zachary Gregory's file did not do him justice. She knew all the particulars by heart—six foot four, broad shoulders, dark hair, dark eyes. But the file—and the grainy photo that accompanied it—hadn't conveyed the man's brooding nature, the sensual quality of his lips or the heavy-lidded gaze that lent a seductive air to his expression, though she was certain that was not what he had in mind. If anything, Zach Gregory looked thoroughly upset with her. And she couldn't really blame him. Five minutes ago, he hadn't known she existed.

Rather than prolong the inevitable, as soon as he opened his door and she introduced herself and showed him her credentials, she had announced that the woman found dead in that Forest Service campground that morning was indeed his sister, Camille Gregory, aka Claire Watson, that she had been in the Witness Security Program for the past four years and that she had disappeared from her home in Maryland five days ago.

"I understand why you're angry, Mr. Gregory," she said, keeping her voice low in case any of the neighbors in the townhomes around them were eavesdropping. She had driven to Zach's home immediately after confirming Camille's death with the local sheriff's department. She had taken the first flight available from Houston to Junction after the sheriff's department had contacted the FBI with news of Camille's death. Apparently, Zach had been on the scene when Camille's body had been found—not at all what Shelby or anyone else involved would have wanted. Now it was up to her to try to calm him down and find out how much he knew. "As terrible as this was for you and your family, we had to make you believe Camille had died. It was for your own protection. And for hers."

"You didn't do a very good job of protecting her if she's dead now," he said. "If she's really dead this time."

"Yes, she's really dead this time." Shelby glanced to either side. "Could I please come in and talk about this?"

He stepped aside, and she moved past him into the townhome's front room, aware of his bulk looming over her. Camille had referred to her brother as a gentle bear of a man, but Shelby sensed none of that gentleness now. She was used to people being angry with her, but they were usually people who had broken the law or failed to cooperate in an investigation. Zach Gregory was the first she had encountered whose anger she understood. In his shoes, she might have wanted to break someone in half.

He closed the door and turned to face her again. "Let me see your ID again."

She held up her Bureau-issued identification. He peered at it, then at her, and she felt his gaze to her core. Weighing her. Judging whether or not he could trust her. "Shelby Dryden. I don't remember you from the trial."

"If you mean the Chalk brothers trial, I wasn't there." She tucked the ID back into her pocket. "I met your sister after she went into witness security."

"They told us she had been murdered, gunned down by an unknown shooter on her way home from work. They said she had refused a security detail, and that they had no suspects in her death. They said they were very sorry." His mouth was grim, but his eyes had the bottomless look of someone who was beyond exhaustion.

She wanted to take his hand. To try to comfort him. But there wasn't any way to make this whole ugly mess better. Instead, she looked toward the sofa and chairs arranged in front of a fireplace on one side of the large, open living room. "Let's sit down," she said. "And I'll try to answer all your questions."

He followed her and dropped onto the sofa, while she sat on the edge of a low-backed, upholstered armchair on his left. All the furniture looked new, which fit with the information she had, that he had lived in Eagle Mountain less than a year. His home was neat, but as impersonal as a hotel, with no photographs or art on the walls, no books or magazines on the coffee or end tables. The only sign that anyone really lived here was a half glass of water and a half-eaten sandwich on a paper napkin on the table beside the sofa. She must have interrupted him eating dinner.

"Tell me what's going on," he said. "The truth, this time."

She nodded and smoothed her palms down her thighs. "Just know that your sister wasn't forced into anything," she said. "Going into witness security was her choice, as was the decision to fake her death and not tell her family. She felt doing anything else would put you all in too much danger, and we had to agree."

"And she went where? To Maryland?"

"Yes. She started a new life there. She had a townhouse in a nice neighborhood and a job as office manager of a small insurance agency. She made friends. She had a good life."

His expression didn't soften. "She didn't have her family."

"No. And I know she missed you all. She talked about you sometimes." She especially talked about Zach. How she worried her death would send her little brother off course. Camille had blamed herself for putting him in danger, though Shelby had tried to convince her this wasn't the case.

"So what happened?" Zach asked. "Why is she dead now? And why was she even here? Why was she camping?"

"Maybe she thought camping was a good way to hide out. I think she was trying to reach you," Shelby said. "I think she wanted to tell you something. Or warn you about something."

"Warn me about what?"

"I don't know. But looking back on conversations we had before she disappeared, I think she believed the Chalk brothers had learned something that put you in danger. She wanted to warn you to be careful."

"So the Chalk brothers killed her?"

"Probably someone who worked for them, but yes, that's what we believe."

"But you don't have proof." He shook his head. "There's never any proof. Or enough proof. My sister put her life on the line. She sat in that courtroom and told them everything she saw that night at the restaurant. She saw that judge die, and the Chalk brothers were the only ones there, but it wasn't enough to put them behind bars."

"She didn't see the shots fired," Shelby said.

"She heard them!" he protested.

"She couldn't swear there wasn't anyone else there that night. The defense team took advantage of that."

"You know they killed that judge."

She nodded. "Yes. We believe they lured the judge to the restaurant that night. Possibly they offered him money. Instead, they killed him. But knowing isn't enough. We have to have proof."

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, face buried in his hands. He wore jeans and a blue plaid flannel shirt open over a gray T-shirt. The muscles of his back and arms strained the shirt. He looked like a mountain man. Someone strong and capable, not the baby brother Camille had worried about so much. Shelby waited, giving him time. The house was so silent, not even traffic noises coming from outside.

At last, he raised his head. His eyes were red rimmed, but he looked less angry now. "What are you doing here?" he asked. "Doesn't the US Marshals Service handle witness protection? Or witness security—whatever you call it? Why is the FBI involved?"

"The US Marshals Service is in charge of witness security," she said. "But the FBI is still actively investigating the Chalk brothers. And we will investigate your sister's murder."

"So you drew the short straw and had to talk to me?"

"I volunteered for that." She leaned forward a little more. "Camille was my friend. I know how much you meant to her. Talking to you was something I could do for her."

The grief that flashed across his face was so raw her own eyes stung with tears. He looked away, the skin along his jaw white as he clenched his teeth, his throat convulsing as he swallowed.

She stood and retrieved the glass of water and handed it to him. He took it and drank, then froze and stared at her. "What about my parents? Did you send someone to talk to them, too?" He stood. "I should be there with them. I was waiting until we knew more about what had happened before I talked to them."

"I was planning on talking to them after I visited with you," she said. "We can go together."

He didn't sit back down but rubbed a hand over his face. "Are they safe? Will whoever killed Camille go after them next?"

He wasn't worried about his own safety, only his parents'. That fit with everything Camille had told her. "Junction Police have been alerted to keep an eye on them, but we don't believe they're in any danger." Zach might be a different story, if Camille's suspicions were true. "Sit down and talk to me," Shelby said. "I have some questions I need to ask you, then we'll visit your parents."

He sat, perched on the edge of the sofa, as if prepared to spring up again at any second. "What about my questions? Are you going to tell me what really happened?"

"I'll tell you as much as I can."

He didn't look happy with that answer but pushed on. "You say she disappeared? What do you mean? Was she, like, monitored or something?"

"She had a team with the Marshals Service who kept an eye on her. Not exactly bodyguards, but they watched for anything unusual that might pose a threat, and we—the FBI and the Marshals—tried to stay alert to any developments with the Chalk brothers that might indicate they had located her. And she and I talked every few days."

"Because you were her friend?"

"Yes. And because I'm still involved in the case. She would share anything she remembered about the Chalk brothers in general and that night at the restaurant in particular."

He stilled, as if suddenly transformed into a statue. "Zach?" she asked.

He shook his head, as if to clear it. "Did she tell you anything new?" he asked.

"Nothing big. But sometimes she would remember little details that hadn't come out at the trial. Like she had seen the brothers in the restaurant two weeks before the judge's murder, with a third man. We haven't been able to identify that man, but we're working on it. I stopped by her townhouse four days ago to show her some photographs, to see if she recognized anyone in them, and realized she was gone."

"How did you know she was gone?"

"She had a cat. A gray tabby she named Peter. She had given it to her boss's daughter at the insurance agency. She told the girl she couldn't keep it anymore." Sadness threatened to overwhelm her, and she looked away.

"Camille always loved cats," he said.

Shelby nodded. "I knew if she had given Peter away, that meant she didn't think she would be coming back."

"Where did you think she had gone?"

"I thought at first she had decided to strike out on her own. It happens. People get tired of being watched and protected. Or they believe they'll be safer. They move somewhere else—overseas, out West, to Alaska. They take a new name and start a new life. Most of them know a lot about how to do that because they've been in the program. Some of them are even successful. Some of them return to the program after a while."

"And some of them die," he said.

"Yes. People enter witness security because their life is in danger. If that threat hasn't gone away, they are always vulnerable to being discovered and eliminated."

"And you think that's what happened to Camille? She was...eliminated?"

"We're still piecing together exactly what happened, but people who get in the Chalk brothers' way usually end up dead."

"And no one is stopping them."

"We're trying," she said. "That's why I'm here now."

"Showing up after Camille is dead doesn't really help anything."

The words hurt. He probably meant them, too. But she was good at hiding her feelings. It was practically a requirement in the Bureau. No one wanted the reputation of being too soft—especially not a woman. "I already told you, I believe Camille was near Eagle Mountain because she wanted to see you," she said. "She was worried you were in danger."

"So she came here to warn me. But why would I be in danger?"

She met his gaze. "I don't know. She wouldn't tell me. I was hoping you had some idea. Do you know something that would upset the Chalk brothers? Maybe something you haven't mentioned before."

"No. And it's been four years since their trial. Why come after me now?"

"If the Chalk brothers thought you knew something about the judge's murder that hasn't come out yet, they might go after you. Maybe something Camille told you that she forgot."

"The Chalk brothers were already acquitted of that murder," he said. "It wouldn't matter if there was new evidence or not, would it?"

"Only if the evidence implicated someone else," she said.

"Then the Chalk brothers ought to be giving the person who could provide that evidence a medal, not trying to kill them. Their whole case was built on the idea that some mysterious third person stepped out of nowhere to kill the judge and they were innocent bystanders." His face twisted in disgust.

"So you're positive your sister never contacted you. Maybe on social media? She might have used a false name—Claire or Carla, or even Gladys."

"Gladys?" That surprised a harsh laugh from him.

Shelby forced herself not to squirm. "She had a couple of social media accounts under that name. She never posted, but she read other people's posts. Maybe she read yours."

"I don't do social media," he said.

"Never?"

He met her gaze again, his expression hard. "Having the FBI questioning me about every aspect of my life for the year before the Chalk brothers trial made me value my privacy." He stood and stared down at her.

She rose also, though she still felt small beside him. "I'm probably going to have more questions," she said. "I need you to answer them to help me find whoever killed Camille."

"It doesn't matter if you find them if you don't have the right proof," he said. "That's what it came down to with the Chalk brothers before, isn't it? We all know they murdered that judge, but they got away with it. And they probably killed Camille, too. Do you really think you're going to make any difference this time?"

"I'm going to try."

He shook his head. "Go for it, then. Just don't expect me to be any help." He scooped up his keys from the table by the door. "I'm going to see my parents now. You don't have to come."

"I can answer questions for them that you can't." She followed him out the door. "And I'm required to be the one to officially notify them."

"Suit yourself."

She followed him to his truck. When he unlocked it, she opened the passenger door and slid inside. He frowned at her. "You can follow me in your vehicle," he said.

"It's better this way." She fastened her seat belt. She had made the trip from Junction once today. The hour-long drive would give her time to study him and get to know him better.

She felt sorry for Zach, losing his sister not once but twice. But she couldn't let pity get in the way of doing her job. And she was convinced he was lying to her about something. He wasn't going to get rid of her until she found out the truth.