Chapter Twenty

A fter dropping Tom off, Jack drove to TarStone Mountain Ski Resort. He slowly rumbled up and down the parking lot looking for a white Lincoln, then drove up to the entrance of the three-story hotel. He asked the horrified doorman to leave his cruiser where it was parked, stepped inside the bustling lobby, and walked past the line of patrons at the registry desk.

“Is Greylen MacKeage available?” he asked the clerk who spotted his badge and came over.

“No, sir, he’s not. But Callum MacKeage is available. Or I could page his brother, Morgan, if you prefer.”

Jack didn’t want to go to Gù Brath and chance running into Megan. “I’ll speak with Callum, thank you. Would you please call Greylen and ask him to come over here? And also give me a printout of your guest list that would include what they’re driving?”

“I don’t know if I’m supposed to do that, sir.”

“I’ll handle this, Derek. Thank you,” a gentleman said as he appeared in a doorway behind the counter. “Chief Stone, if you would come this way,” he offered. “And bring me that printout he requested, would you, Derek?”

Jack strode around the counter and walked past what could only be another giant MacKeage, though this one appeared to be several years Greylen’s senior. He looked as if he should have retired fifteen or twenty years ago, but here he was in a suit and tie, his physique that of a much younger man, his eyes sharp with intelligence.

What in hell was in the water around here?

“Chief,” the man said, extending his hand. “I’m Greylen’s cousin, Callum MacKeage.”

Jack shook his hand. “Call me Jack, please. It’s good to meet yet another member of Megan’s family. I asked your clerk to call Greylen to come here.”

“I already called him when Derek told me you were here. Grey’s on his way, and so is Morgan, his brother. Do ye have some news for us about Megan’s burglar?”

“I have a description of the car he was driving, and I’d like to see if he’s registered here.”

The door to the office opened and another giant walked in, this one a few years younger than Greylen. Jack decided he was bottling up the water from his well and selling it as a growth elixir.

“Chief,” the man said, extending his hand. “Morgan MacKeage, Megan’s uncle. Have you caught my niece’s burglar?”

Jack shook his hand. “Please call me Jack. As I was just explaining to Callum, I found out what the guy is driving, and I’m assuming he’s staying here.”

“Why?” Callum asked. “There are other hotels in town.”

“Because this is where I would stay if my target’s family conveniently owned a hotel.”

Both men narrowed their eyes at him. Jack sat down without waiting for an invitation, and looked around. He realized Callum had brought him to Grey’s office when he saw the pictures of all the girls when they were young. He stood up and walked over to look at one in particular.

“This is Megan. How old is she here?”

“Nine,” Morgan said, coming to stand beside him. “She’s sitting on Lancelot.” He waved at the wall of seven individual pictures of Grey’s seven daughters on horseback. “Each girl was given a draft horse for her fifth birthday. Their uncle Ian had a passion for the big, docile beasts.”

“I don’t believe I’ve met Ian,” he said, studying the other photos, immediately picking out Camry. Even as a kid, Jack could see she was a hellion.

“No, you haven’t. Ian left us nearly three years ago.”

“Sorry,” he murmured.

The door opened and Greylen walked in, carrying a computer printout. “What’s up, Stone?” he asked, walking around his desk and sitting down. “Ye have some good news for us?”

“No, I’m hoping you do,” Jack said, sitting across from him. “I’m looking for a guest of yours who would be driving a late-model, white Lincoln Town Car with New York plates.”

Greylen pulled a set of glasses out of his shirt pocket and studied the printout. A minute later he set the pages down on his desk and pointed to a spot on one of them. “Peter Trump, room 316.” He hit the intercom button. “Derek, could you please print out Peter Trump’s history for me, and also tell me when he’d scheduled to check out,” he asked, releasing the button.

“Trump has a history here? How do you know?”

Grey tapped his finger on the page. “We have a code for repeat guests, so we can reward their patronage.”

Jack leaned back in his chair. “Peter Trump is likely an alias. What did you take for an ID? Does it say?”

“Credit card,” Greylen read. “Which would be viable, or we’d have known it was fake when he checked in. We always run them through first thing, to hold the funds.”

Jack shrugged. “It’s easy to get a card under a false name. The good thing is, Trump doesn’t realize we know who he is or where he’s staying. It’s just a matter of my knocking on door 316 and asking him to come down to the station for questioning.”

To a man, the three MacKeages gave Jack scowls that would have made a bear tremble.

He immediately shook his head. “We’re doing this my way this time, gentlemen, and we’re doing it by the book. I have to show the selectmen I’m doing something to earn my paycheck. So far, it looks as if I’ve been running around chasing my tail. What’s Megan up to today?” he asked, standing up and heading to the door. “Has her mother let her out of her sight yet?”

“Megan was locked in the lab with Kenzie when I left Gù Brath,” Grey said, following him.

Jack pulled open the door, then turned and held up his hand to the three men following him. “I’m going up alone,” he said, checking his gun tucked in the back of his belt, under his jacket. “Just give me a master key card and point me to the stairs.”

He turned and nearly ran over Derek.

“Um…here are the printouts,” Derek said, handing them to Greylen. “And Mr. Trump left his departure date open-ended.”

“Thank you. Would you also get Chief Stone a master key?” Grey said, looking down at the printouts he’d just received. “Peter Trump has been here five times in the last six months. First time was August 23.” He looked at Jack. “Not a week after Megan got home.” He looked back at the printout in his hand. “He stayed two weeks. Then he was here again in early October, when he stayed one week. Then November and December. He arrived this last time on January 10.” He looked at Jack again. “That would be shortly after Megan went to work for Mark Collins.”

Jack took the key card from Derek, walked into the lobby, then turned back to the men. “The stairs?”

Morgan pointed to the left. Jack pushed through the heavy fire door, walked up two of the steps, then turned and bent down to peek through the tiny window in the door. Yup, the three Scots were scrambling in three different directions, apparently intending to cover his ass.

Jack turned and headed upstairs with a smile. Nothing like having a few giant Highlanders watching his back.

He made it partway down the hall of the third floor, then stopped with a muttered curse. His jacket was police issue. When Trump checked the peephole and saw Jack’s badge, he would likely start shooting through the door. He slipped off his jacket and tossed it on the floor next to the wall, pulling his gun from the back of his belt and holding it down by this thigh.

Greylen stepped off the elevator and walked toward him. “Let me knock on his door,” Grey said. “He should recognize me and not get suspicious.”

Jack nodded. It was a good plan. They walked to room 316 together; then Jack hung back and waited. Grey knocked, then knocked again, but nobody answered.

“Mr. Trump, are you in there?” Grey asked. “We’re having a water problem with the room below ye, and we need to check your bathroom, sir.”

Still nobody answered.

Grey reached in his pocket and pulled out his own master key card. But just as soon as he stuck it in the slot, Jack nudged him aside and opened the door while staying out of the direct line of fire. The door swung open into what appeared to be an empty room.

With his gun leading the way, Jack slowly entered the two-room suite, checking the closets and bathroom and both rooms thoroughly. He lowered his gun with a sigh and Grey finally entered the room.

“He’s gone,” Grey said, stating the obvious. “He packed up and left without checking out.”

“Which probably means he’s not coming back,” Jack said, tucking his gun in his belt as he continued exploring the room. He picked up the trash can, dumped the papers in it onto the desk, and rummaged through them. “Don’t let housekeeping clean in here until I have Simon Pratt check for fingerprints,” Jack said, shoving all the papers back in the trash can. “With luck, our guy might be in someone’s database. There’s a chance he’s never coming back, but there’s also a good chance that he suspects his car was seen and has changed vehicles and checked into another hotel either here in Pine Creek or in Greenville.”

“I would guess the last, since he can’t know we’ve sent off the samples,” Grey said. “Mark Collins emailed Megan yesterday and asked how her survey was coming along.”

“Did she answer him?”

“Aye, she sent him an email saying she thought there was a mountain lion in the area to be developed.”

“Perfect,” Jack said. “Mentioning the cat makes it appear that she doesn’t suspect a thing.”

“Megan just realized this morning that her laptop is missing. She had me go over to her house with her to get it, but she couldn’t find it.”

Jack dismissed the news with a shrug. “The samples are what Collins want.”

Grey moved directly in front of Jack. “I’m worried that Megan herself might be a target now. She told me this morning that she had taken extensive notes on what she’d observed around the dead animals. That’s why she went after the laptop this morning, when she remembered her notes and wanted to read them.”

“Shit,” Jack hissed. “If Collins gets hold of her computer, he might decide Megan is just as much of a threat as those samples are.” He glared at Grey. “She has to stay at Gù Brath until…dammit, it could take weeks to get Collins off our backs.”

“Or an instant, for the right man,” Grey said very softly.

Jack shook his head. “I don’t know where in hell you people get your sense of justice, but taking the law into your own hands is not acceptable.”

“Collins is now threatening my daughter’s life, Stone. In my day, we made sure such threats couldn’t come back to haunt us.” Grey walked to the hall door. “I will give you the same amount of time to deal with Collins that you gave Kenzie to deal with his problem. One week, Stone—and then I will take matters into my own hands.” His eyes hardened even more. “And if you fail, you will leave Pine Creek forever—alone.”

Jack stared at the empty doorway. O-kay. It didn’t get any more direct than that, did it?

Jack pulled out his cell phone, called Simon, and told him to come to the resort to take fingerprints. He then slipped the phone back in his pocket with a sigh. It was time to start thinking like his ancestors.

Taking advantage of his foul mood, Jack went to the MacKeage stables to wait for Kenzie. He knew the Sasquatch was using a horse to travel to and from the cabin where he lived with the priest, because Jack’s badge had gotten the doorman to talk about a lot of things, including Kenzie’s frequent visits to Gù Brath since Megan had moved back home.

Jack had also learned from the affable doorman that Miss Camry MacKeage was a huge flirt, but that she was all talk and no action. Presumably he told Jack this so Jack wouldn’t get his hopes up, seeing how he was new in town and all. Not that it mattered, anyway, as the doorman had heard that Camry was flying to France in a few days because of what some scientist there had discovered about ion propulsion—which, the doorman had explained, was Camry’s area of expertise.

So Jack sat on a bale of hay and let some horse named Snowball nuzzle his shoulder. He was surprised to realize he was going to miss Camry. She had grown on him over the last couple of weeks, and he was sorry she was leaving.

The large stable door suddenly slid open and Kenzie Gregor walked in, stopping short when he spotted Jack.

“How’s your favor going with Megan?” Jack asked.

Kenzie walked to a stall and led one of the huge draft horses into the aisle. “It’s going quite well, thank ye.”

“And your pet? How’s that little problem coming along?”

Kenzie gave Jack a warning glance and went back to bridling his horse. “I told ye I’d take care of it, and I will.”

“No, actually, you never did tell me you would.”

Kenzie turned to face him. “The beast won’t be breaking into any more shops. He’s sick, and I fear he may be dying.”

“Well, that takes care of that problem,” Jack said, standing up to leave.

“Ye don’t understand, Stone. I intend to do everything in my power to save him.”

“Or your brother’s power?”

Kenzie looked momentarily startled, then narrowed his eyes. “What has my brother got to do with this?”

Jack shrugged and stepped outside, Kenzie following. “You save that creature’s life, Gregor, you better find a way to send it back where it came from.”

“I will deal with it,” he said, leading his horse toward the path heading up the mountain. He stopped, swung up onto its bare back in one easy motion, and gave Jack a speculative look. “Camry and Megan were talking at lunch today, and Camry mentioned a word I haven’t heard before. Would ye happen to know what shaman means?”

“What it means, Gregor, is that you Celts aren’t the only magic act in town,” Jack said, walking away.

Jack’s foul mood continued through the rest of the day and into the evening. It also was likely responsible for the heart-pounding nightmare he had that night, in which he repeatedly found himself battling one monster after another as he frantically tried to get to Megan, who was struggling in the icy water of a tundra lake.

Each time he was just about to reach her, another adversary got in his way. Kenzie Gregor tried to cut him in half with a large bloody sword, Jack barely deflecting each blow with his tiny hatchet. Then a faceless Mark Collins stood with his small army of students, forcing Jack to hack his way through them, their cries of betrayal caught up in Megan’s scream for help. The dragon flew at him next, shooting fire from its nostrils as its tail lashed at Jack, trying to knock the hatchet from his hand.

And just when he thought he’d defeated any and all foes and could finally save Megan, Jack found Greylen MacKeage blocking his path. Looking a good forty years younger, wearing a gray and red, dark green, and lavender plaid and holding an ancient and bloodied sword in his hand, the fierce Highlander was the final gauntlet he had to run in order to reach the woman he loved.

The hatchet dangling in his hand at his side and blood seeping from his wounds, Jack’s entire body trembled with exhaustion and apparent defeat. He could only watch helplessly as men from three different clans pulled Megan from the icy water and then flew off, carrying her to an impenetrable fortress on a distant mountain.

“Ye failed, Stone,” Greylen said, moving to block his way when Jack tried to follow. “You’ve disgraced your ancestors by failing to protect what’s yours. Ye don’t deserve a family of your own, especially my daughter and grandson. We’ll raise the boy to be a powerful warrior.”

“I don’t want him to be a warrior!” Jack cried out. “And neither does his mother.”

“Turn around, Stone. See what your way has gained you.”

Jack slowly turned and saw Kenzie, the dragon, and Collins and his students regrouping, preparing themselves to come at him again.

“ You possess the skills of a warrior, Stone,” Greylen said, drawing his attention again. “But ye refuse to use them.”

“I prefer peaceful solutions to problems.”

“And so you will continue to fight the same fights, refusing to see that sometimes a man must act decisively, even when it goes against his nature.”

“I fought them ,” Jack said, nodding behind him without taking his eyes off Megan’s father.

“Aye, but your blows were ineffectual, and instead of solving anything, ye only postponed the inevitable. Did ye not hope to avoid taking action yourself by giving Kenzie a week to deal with the dragon? And so your problems come at you again, and my daughter and her child pay the price of your hesitation.”

Jack dropped his chin to his chest. “There has to be a way I can save her,” he said, more to himself than to Grey.

“There is, Coyote.”

“What is it, then?” Jack asked, looking up, only to find his grand-père standing beside Greylen, the two men appearing to be different sides of the same coin.

“You must embrace your dark side,” his grand-père said. “And acknowledge the shadow your heart creates when you stand in the light. One does not exist without the other, Coyote—which means you cannot exist unless you accept both.”

“If I acknowledge the shadows, will I get Megan and my son back?” he asked, looking up to find himself in his pitch-black bedroom, his sheets soaked with sweat and his heart pounding in dread.

Jack untangled himself from the bedding, showered, dressed, and went to work, his mood from yesterday compounded tenfold by the nightmare he couldn’t seem to shake—which vividly echoed the fact that he hadn’t seen Megan since Matt Gregor had whisked her off to Gù Brath in his plane.

Jack’s day continued its downward spiral when he walked into the police station and found John Bracket in their makeshift holding cell. The man had a cut on his forehead and blood on his shirt, and was hollering at Ethel to get him a lawyer.

And Jack realized he was looking at yet another monster he hadn’t fully dealt with: just like a battered wife, he had hoped this particular problem would solve itself. But here it was, haunting him again.

“Did Mrs. Bracket finally press charges?” Jack asked Ethel.

“No, we did. John Bracket got in an accident on the way home from some bar in Greenville, and sent our sand truck off the road. It plunged into Pine Creek.”

“How’s the driver of the sand truck?”

“He’s at the hospital with Simon. They both needed stitches.”

“Both? What happened to Simon?”

“Bracket split open Simon’s cheekbone when the boy tried to handcuff him to bring him in.”

Jack bit back a curse. “If I’d pressed charges last week when Bracket punched me, this wouldn’t have happened.”

“It would have eventually,” Ethel said. “He’d have gotten out on bail, gotten drunk again, and something just as ugly would have happened.” She shrugged. “It’s always the same vicious cycle.”

“This particular cycle stops today. We’re drawing up a list of charges that will keep him locked up for a couple of years, and pray that’s long enough for him to find some religion.”

“I’ve already done the paperwork, and a sheriff’s deputy is on the way to transport John to the county jail,” Ethel said, just as the phone rang. “I put your messages on your desk,” she finished, picking up the phone.

Jack walked into his office, sat down at his desk, and stared at the opposite wall. It wasn’t just time to think like his ancestors; it was time he had a heart-to-heart talk with them.

Jack’s mood did an immediate one-eighty when he walked into Pine Creek PowerSports that afternoon and found Tom Cleary hunched over the partly dismantled engine of his sled. Tom actually looked like a mechanic: he was wearing clean coveralls, his hair was shorter—though it looked like his mother had cut it—and he had on safety glasses and steel-toed boots.

Paul Dempsey was hovering over the boy as if he expected Tom to pick up a sledgehammer and start thumping away.

“Will it be ready by tomorrow morning?” Jack asked, bending down to peer into the massive mess of metal.

“If I work on it all evening,” Tom said without bothering to look up. He did nod toward Paul. “And if Mr. Dempsey quits telling me what to do next.”

Paul harrumphed and walked to the door leading into his showroom.

Jack gave Tom a pat on the back. “There’s a fifty dollar tip for you if you get it done tonight. I need my sled tomorrow morning for a run up the lake.”

“It’ll be ready for you,” Tom said, just as he pulled a large piece of metal off the top, exposing the guts of the engine. “You just burned up a piston, is all,” Tom said, shining a light down one of the four large holes. “But you didn’t score the cylinder, so it’ll be an easy fix.”

“Thanks, Tom.”

“Mr. Stone? Thank you for…for everything.”

“You want to thank me, give half your paycheck to your mother and encourage your brothers to behave, okay? And call me Jack. You’re a workingman now; you’ve earned the right.”

“I already told Mom she could have most of my paycheck,” Tom said. “And I promise the pranks will stop.”

Jack gave him a nod and walked into the showroom just as Paul was flipping the Open sign in the door to Closed.

“You’re a good man, Dempsey,” Jack told him, climbing on one of the large red ATVs. “And smart, too, for hiring Tom. He’s going to make you lots of money.”

Paul puffed up a bit. “I gotta admit, I was judging the book by the cover. Everyone in town has watched those Cleary boys grow up rough-and-tumble, and I guess we’re all guilty of visiting the sins of their father on them.”

Jack nodded. “Giving him this chance to prove himself…well, you’re a good man.”

Paul’s face reddened, and he fiddled with the price tag on the ATV Jack was sitting on, then suddenly got a sparkle in his eyes. “Say, did you know a lot of the snowmobile trails around here double as ATV trails in the summer? What are you planning to do for fun when the snow melts?”

“I’m planning to buy myself a boat and a large cooler for food and beer, and I’m going to fish this lake dry.”

“Oh, man,” Paul said, rushing over to a rack of brochures, pulling one out, then rushing back. “Have I got the perfect boat for you!”