Chapter Two

CHAPTER TWO

T HE CALL CAME into the sheriff’s department midmorning. Stuart hadn’t been able to get Bailey’s visit last night and his one-sided feelings for her out of his mind. Those feelings were complicated to say the least. He wasn’t even sure exactly what he wanted from her—let alone what she might want from him.

All he knew was that she had secrets he feared were dangerous. He couldn’t help but worry about her, even while admitting that she was a dark path he knew he shouldn’t take.

He accepted the call as if he’d been waiting all morning for bad news.

“Ralph Jones is on the line,” the dispatcher said. “He says it’s urgent. Wouldn’t say more than that.”

“Put him through.” Stuart leaned forward in his chair. Along with an ongoing feud with his closest neighbor, Ralph Jones was the head of a so-called secret local organization called Dirty Business. Jones had organized some area residents against coalbed methane drilling. But from what the sheriff had heard, the group hadn’t been meeting much lately after a guard from the gas company had been killed and another injured. Drilling seemed to have slowed down.

Stuart assumed the call had something to do either with CH4, the gas company that had been operating in the area, or Jay Erickson, the feuding neighbor, and braced himself. All morning he’d had a familiar itch on the back of his neck. He blamed Bailey’s visit for leaving him on edge and anticipating the worst.

“Ralph,” he said into the phone. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m by the river. Stopped on my way back from taking a horse down to Wyoming.” The rancher’s voice sounded strained. “I was taking a piss in the trees when I saw...a body in the water. A woman’s body.”

Stuart felt all the air rush from his lungs. His first thought was the woman who’d left his place before daylight this morning. “Do you recognize the woman?” It was a small community where most everyone knew each other. Everyone knew Bailey McKenna. She was the daughter of Holden McKenna, a wealthy, powerful rancher who probably had the governor’s cell phone number, he was so well-connected.

“She’s lying face down in the water. She’s completely naked and...” Jones said, voice hoarse with emotion. Before Stuart could ask if he had checked to see who it was, the rancher said, “I thought it was Bailey McKenna, the dark, curly hair... But when I checked, I saw it was Willow Branson, the young woman who works...worked at the hotel. Then I saw...someone did something awful to her.”

“Okay, Ralph.” The rancher’s words were still echoing in his ears, making his heart pound, his stomach roil. I thought it was Bailey McKenna. “Where exactly are you?” Jones told him. “Stay there. Don’t talk to anyone about this, and don’t touch the body again. I’m on my way.” He disconnected and called the coroner.

Twelve minutes later, he was securing the crime scene site with one of his deputies keeping everyone away from the spot next to the county road along the Powder River. After taking photographs of the overall scene, Stuart jumped from rock to rock down the river to the body, hoping not to disturb any more evidence than had already been lost.

As he neared the body, he slowed, his stomach doing a roll. Jones was right. At first glance, the young woman lying dead in the creek could have been Bailey. They were close to the same size and shape, both with a head of dark, curly hair, both attractive young women, although Willow was about ten years younger.

Even though he knew it wasn’t Bailey, the knot in his stomach tightened, the pressure on his chest making breathing unbearable. She lay face down in about six inches of water, just as Jones had said. She was naked, her long hair floating in the water around her head.

Crouching down next to her, he swallowed back the sudden nausea, hating what he was about to see. Gently, he lifted her head so he could see her face. It wasn’t Bailey. He felt a guilty stab of relief even though Jones had said it wasn’t her. But the resemblance was uncanny—and startling since the last time he’d seen Willow, she’d been blonde.

His relief was followed by a heart-pounding need for justice. Wasn’t that why he’d talked himself into taking the sheriff job? This was someone’s daughter, a young woman in the prime of her life, murdered. He thought about how he’d feel if the woman in the river had been Bailey. He’d never condoned vigilante justice, but he’d never understood the need until right now. Someone hurts the person you love, you hurt them back. Another reason he shouldn’t be sheriff, he thought.

As if moving on rote, he lifted the victim’s shoulder to see the damage done to her left breast. His stomach lurched, and for a moment, he thought he’d be sick.

Stuart fought it back as he let go of her shoulder and stood awkwardly, balancing on the rocks, legs weak. This woman deserved the best criminal investigator around. It wasn’t him, he told himself. He couldn’t keep lying to himself. The “incident” had scared the hell out of him. He’d no longer been sure he could do the job. As he looked at the river water washing past her body, he feared he wasn’t the one to get her justice.

To make it worse, the river had washed away any evidence by now, which was why he suspected her body had been dumped here. Feeling as if he was sleepwalking, he took out his phone and photographed the scene, documenting it and the wounds on Willow’s body. But he couldn’t blot out the pain he saw on the young woman’s body. The ligature marks on her wrists and ankles and neck.

Forcing himself, he lifted her shoulder high enough that he could photograph what the killer had done to her. Bile rushed up his throat, filling his mouth, as he carefully lowered her back down and stood again.

His stomach cramped as he straightened and tried to breathe. The cool breeze coming down the river steadied him, allowing him to fight back the spasms as everything in his stomach fought to get out. Think like the law that you are.

Or walk away.

It was an option that had been in the back of his mind for weeks. He could quit. There was no shame in admitting that he couldn’t take it anymore. Hell, better men than him had walked away. He’d lied to the doctor. He wasn’t up to this. Not anymore.

Phone still in his hand, he made the call to the state boys in Billings.

B AILEY REALIZED THAT the news of her run-in with the law at the Billings Public Library had gotten out. She just hadn’t expected it to reach the McKenna Ranch so quickly. This morning, just before daylight, she’d left Stuart’s house and driven out to the ranch where she still technically lived. She’d gone to her wing of the new larger-than-ever ranch house her father had built after a fire had destroyed the old one.

She was almost thirty and still lived at home, but she hadn’t been able to force herself to move out. She had a love-hate relationship with the ranch. Also, she could come and go without seeing anyone, thanks to the private entrance she had insisted on during construction.

The huge ranch house was mostly empty. Her brother Cooper lived in the home he’d built on the ranch with his new wife, Tilly. Her older brother, Treyton, had his own place, so she never saw him, which was fine given his bad-tempered disposition, worse than her own. Her youngest brother, Duffy, was down in Wyoming, working in the oil fields. That left only her father, his teenaged ward, Holly Jo Robinson, and their housekeeper and cook, Elaine.

Since Holden McKenna had brought the then twelve-year-old Holly Jo home, Bailey had stayed clear of the girl. She tried to stay clear of her father as well, unable to explain even to herself her no-doubt unwarranted anger toward him. Knowing that he always took an early morning horseback ride, she left her wing to see if Elaine had made her usual blueberry coffee cake this morning.

“Bailey?”

She slowed to a stop at the sound of her father’s voice as she was passing the dining room. Why wasn’t he on his morning ride? Having no choice, she turned to face him. Holden sat at the head of the table. She wasn’t surprised to see Elaine sitting in the chair where her mother had once sat. At least, that’s what she’d been told. Bailey had been too young when her mother died to remember her now.

“Good morning,” Bailey said pleasantly enough, she hoped. “I was just on my way to the kitchen.” She started to leave, but her father stopped her.

“Bailey, wait. I need to talk to you.”

She tried not to sigh loudly and start an argument. She wasn’t in the mood for a lecture—let alone an inquisition as to why she had stayed so late at the library that she’d gotten locked inside. She assumed that was what this was about. It would be just like someone from the police station to call her father. But she especially didn’t want to get into what she’d been doing at the library—not just last night but for years.

When she turned, Elaine, also her father’s faithful co-conspirator, was on her feet. “I’ll get you some coffee cake. Would you like anything else?”

“Just coffee and a piece of the cake to go,” she said, hating her own discomfort. For so long, she’d felt apart from everyone—her family, but mostly her father and even Elaine, who was as nice as anyone could be. Much of the time, Bailey wished she was invisible and could just go through life not being seen at all.

“Come sit down,” her father said, and pulled out the chair next to him.

Feeling trapped, she walked into the dining room and sat down. When she looked at her father, she felt a shock. He’d aged. His usual salt-and-pepper head of dark hair was more salt now. His blue eyes were still bright, his skin tanned from his morning horseback rides now that the doctor had okayed them again. There were lines around his eyes and his mouth. She was reminded that he’d almost died not all that long ago after being shot several times.

There was no doubt that almost dying had taken something out of him. Yet he had the bearing of a man who was still strong and powerful. When she looked into his face, she realized how handsome he still was.

She felt a kindness toward him that she hadn’t felt in a very long time.

“I’ve missed you,” he said, reaching over to place one of his large, weathered hands over hers. “You know how important family is to me.”

She nodded, relieved when Elaine returned with several plates of food, fresh coffee and an extra place setting. But sensing that Holden wanted to talk to his daughter alone, Elaine excused herself. “I’ll leave you two alone. There’s fresh fruit and coffee cake, but I’d be glad to fix you something else.”

“Thank you,” Bailey said. “This is more than I need.” She could never understand why her father hadn’t married Elaine. The woman had been like a mother to them for years. Elaine’s own mother had been their original housekeeper and had been raised here on the ranch. She’d often said that it was the only home she’d ever known.

Bailey helped herself to a cup of coffee from the carafe on the table and waited for her father to tell her why he’d wanted to talk to her. She’d learned from an early age not to confess to anything before hearing what he already knew.

“I was worried about you after I got the call this morning from Ralph Jones,” Holden said.

She looked at him, trying to make sense out his words. Local rancher Ralph Jones? How would he have heard about the fiasco at the Billings library? Or was this about something else entirely?

“A woman’s body was found in the river,” he said. “Apparently, she’d been murdered. Ralph said he had a scare because when he first saw her lying there, face down in the river with her dark, curly hair floating around her head...” Her father’s voice broke. “He’d thought it was you.”

Bailey couldn’t inhale. “Who was it?” The question came out on a ragged breath.

“Willow Branson.”

She had an immediate mental image of the young woman who worked at the local hotel. Bailey had noticed Willow’s resemblance to her the first time she’d seen her. Willow was young and trusting, and she looked enough like Bailey to be her little sister.

Except that Willow was blonde.

“No, it can’t be her,” Bailey said. “Her hair isn’t dark.”

“It was when I saw her last week,” her father said.

“Why would she change it?” she demanded too loudly.

Her father was looking at her strangely. “I guess she got tired of being blonde. I don’t think it was her natural color. Bailey, are you all right?”

H OLDEN STARED AT his daughter with growing concern. All the color had leached from her face. Her blue eyes, so like his own, were wide with a fear that alarmed him. “Bailey?”

Her hand trembled as she put down the cup of coffee she’d picked up. “I have to go.” She rose unsteadily. He reached for her even as she pulled away. He couldn’t remember the last time she’d let him touch her more than a few seconds, let alone hug her.

When he’d mention being worried about her, Elaine always pointed out how independent Bailey was. He knew how stubborn she’d been as a child and wild as a teenager. But he couldn’t remember her being so distant. When had she become like this? He couldn’t recall. He told himself that they’d been close when she was younger. He recalled little gestures, like homemade presents and Father’s Day cards as well a hug or an arm around him, a kiss on his cheek. When had all that stopped?

He felt as if there was so much he’d missed because he hadn’t been paying attention. He’d been so wrapped up in his own problems.

Bailey had been difficult during her teen years, rebellious, often in trouble. But she’d outgrown that at college, apparently, because she’d obviously studied hard, graduating at the top of her class. After college, when she’d come home... He frowned. She’d graduated early, smart as a whip. He’d thought maybe she would go back to school, become a lawyer. She’d talked about it when she was younger.

Frowning, he wondered what had changed her mind. Not just about being an attorney. She hadn’t found a career after college. He honestly didn’t know what she did every day. He hadn’t thought too much about it until she’d become so angry. Angry at him, he thought as he watched her leave.

Pushing to his feet, he called after her. “Bailey, I’m worried about you coming and going at all hours of the night. You’re scaring me.”

She had reached the front door and turned to look back at him. For a moment, she was his little girl. Something replaced the anger that so often burned in her blue eyes. He recognized the emotion with a start. Pain. Regret. Remorse. It hurt him to see it so blatant in her expression. Worse, he saw something else. Blame, as if he was the one who’d caused all that naked anguish behind the shine of tears.

And then she was gone out the door.

He slowly lowered himself into his chair, stricken by what he’d seen. What had he done to his little girl?

T HE SHERIFF MADE himself go through the motions as he waited for the state crime team to drive over from Billings. He’d made the necessary calls and taken the necessary photos, looking, he hoped, as if he knew what he was doing even when he no longer trusted himself.

Now, as he stood on a rock in the river and looked upstream, he noticed with a start what a beautiful Montana fall day it was. The blinding blue of the sky overhead. The crisp air scented with the pungent smells of fall, from the dried grasses and leaves to the faint hint of smoke from someone’s early morning fire. He could feel winter’s breath on the back of his neck, and something darker as he realized the killer might have stood in this very spot not all that long ago.

He felt a chill as if the killer might be watching them from the thick stand of cottonwoods along the river that was the heart of this basin. It began in Wyoming and traveled more than one hundred fifty miles to empty into the Yellowstone.

It was not like any other river in the state. Many claimed that the Powder River was a mile wide, an inch deep and ran uphill. The running joke was that it was too thick to drink and too thin to plow. Captain Clark of the Lewis and Clark expedition had named it Redstone River. But the Native Americans called it Powder River because the black shores reminded them of gunpowder, and that had stuck.

“Okay to take her?” the coroner called to him, dragging him out of his reverie.

Stuart nodded and moved to help the coroner and EMTs retrieve the body and transport it to the waiting coroner’s van that would take Willow to the local hospital morgue for the autopsy.

As the coroner slammed the van’s back doors, Stuart asked, “Any idea how long she’s been in the water?” He was still the sheriff, still in charge of this case—until the state team arrived.

“Once I get her on the table, I’ll check her temperature, but from the color of her skin, I’d say she was dropped in the river early this morning. She hasn’t been in the water long.”

“Cause of death?”

“Will depend on if there is any of the river water in her lungs,” the coroner said. “I suspect strangulation given the ligature marks on her neck. I’ll call when I have more.”

With that he left, leaving Stuart to glance back at the river through the trees and bushes next to the county road. The deputy he’d called in was searching the area along the river and road for any possible footprints or evidence that might have been dropped.

The grass along the side of the river had dried as summer faded into fall. He could see where the fallen, dried leaves from the cottonwoods had been crushed into the ground where someone had stepped. No drag marks that he could see. Which meant he’d carried her out into the river and laid her face down in the water, which felt odd. Dead weight wasn’t that easy to carry—especially over the boulders in the river.

Why not just dump her out beside the road or into the water at the edge of the river? It seemed almost...caring to carry her out there. But why put her face down? Because the killer couldn’t bear to look into her face?

He turned to gaze back at the distance from the river’s edge to where she’d been left in the water. The victim was about five-five and weighed about a hundred twenty pounds. Dead weight like that would have required some strength to carry that far out into the river. Stuart felt there was little doubt that her killer had been a man.

After Willow Branson was in a body bag on her way to the morgue, Stuart pushed away the ominous feeling that had overcome him and went to work searching the area with his deputy. He told himself this would be the last time. By afternoon, he would no longer be sheriff. He was stepping down. He didn’t feel as relieved as he thought he would. Nor did he feel guilty. He felt numb and had for a very long time.

But for now... The county road was gravel and well-used. The weather had been clear. The killer hadn’t left any tire marks at the edge of the river.

But his deputy had found one boot print that didn’t match Ralph Jones’s near the edge of the water. Stuart took photos of the print and called his other deputy to come out with materials to make a plaster mold of it.

Some paper and other garbage had blown into the weeds at the base of several nearby trees along the river’s edge. He had his deputy bag everything they could find in the vicinity, even though it was doubtful the killer had left them a clue.

As soon as a couple of the state boys arrived, Stuart headed into town with only one clear thought. I can’t do this anymore. I don’t have to. I’m done.