Chapter Two

"Harper, there you are." Keri Simpkins slid a pencil behind her ear as she stood from her desk, walking quickly to Harper, who was hanging her parka on a hook by the door. "Did you hear the news?"

"News?" Harper rubbed her hands together, attempting to warm them as Keri glanced behind her toward the back of the small county jail.

Keri bobbed her head. "Mm-hmm. That murder the town's been buzzing about? There's been another one. And"—she lowered her voice—"they have a suspect."

Harper's heart constricted. " Another murder?" She frowned, the surprise of the news prickling her skin. Here? In Helena Springs? And a suspect?

"Mm-hmm. And get this, the suspect is some kind of wild man."

"Wild man? What do you mean, wild man ?" And why in the world had she been summoned to the station?

Keri glanced toward the back again, and when she spoke, her voice was rushed. "Like the guy's never lived in civilization before. Like a…like a caveman. Wait until you see—" Keri's words cut off abruptly as footsteps sounded, and a second after that, Dwayne Walbeck, Helena Springs's sheriff, emerged from around the corner, tipping his chin as he spotted Harper.

"Harper. Thanks for coming."

"No problem, Dwayne." Harper glanced at Keri quickly, but she had already turned away toward her desk. Wild man? Harper turned her attention back to Dwayne. "What's going on?"

Dwayne looked to where Keri had taken a seat at her reception desk, her head tilted in a way that let Harper know she was hanging on every word. Despite Harper's current confusion—and the trickle of dread moving down her spine knowing that something awful had happened to someone in her small town—a smile teased at her lips. Keri was as sweet as she was nosy, and everyone in a twenty-mile radius knew exactly where to go if they wanted to find out the latest gossip. It was a wonder Dwayne kept her around. Although normally, her loose lips weren't too much of an issue—generally, the most newsworthy thing coming out of the station was an occasional drunk and disorderly.

"Keri, hold my calls, will you?" Dwayne shot over his shoulder.

"No problem, Dwayne," she sang.

Dwayne placed his hand on Harper's shoulder as he led her to the back of the station where his office was located, along with two holding cells and a small interview room that mostly served as a break area for Dwayne, Keri, and the two deputies, Paul Brighton and Roger Green.

"Dwayne, what in the world is going on?" Harper asked once they'd entered the interview/break room and he'd closed the door.

Dwayne picked up a remote and turned on a monitor hanging on the wall to Harper's left. She turned toward the screen. It showed one of the two holding cells, and a man was sitting on the bench attached to the wall, staring straight ahead.

Harper tilted her head, moving closer, her gaze zeroing in on the man. He was wearing regular blue jeans, stretched taut over muscular thighs, but his jacket was anything but usual. Was it made of…animal fur? Patched together in a way that made it look hand…sewn. She couldn't make out the details of the jacket's specific construction from the picture on the screen, so she didn't even know if that was the right word. In any case, his boots— footwear —were made of the same pieced-together animal skins and went halfway up his calves. He suddenly looked up, his eyes moving directly to the screen as though he knew she was there—or at least knew a camera watched him—and Harper took a step back like he really could see her and she should be embarrassed for staring at him the way she was.

"Recognize him?"

She shook her head, taking in his face still aimed directly at her. Straight brown hair framed it, choppy in a way that made her think he'd cut it with some sort of dull cutting tool. His jaw was shadowed by facial hair somewhere between heavy stubble and a short beard, and despite his overall unusual appearance, she could see that he was handsome, albeit in a way that made her wonder if he bathed.

And if so, where? In an icy stream? The picture her mind conjured wasn't unpleasant, and ashamed of herself, she pushed the image aside.

"You sure you never ran across that guy either on a guided tour or when you were out by yourself?"

No, I'd remember him. Harper shook her head again.

"He might've been wearing something less conspicuous. Especially if it was summer."

Like what? A loincloth? Somehow, she didn't think that would be any less conspicuous. "I'm sure. Who is he, Dwayne?"

Dwayne blew out a breath, shutting off the monitor. Harper felt a momentary twinge of loss that was totally bizarre. But truthfully, she wanted to study the man. She wanted to be left alone in this room and watch him on that camera for a little while just to see what he would do. As if he's some kind of alien life and not a human being? What's wrong with you, Harper?

"Says his name is Lucas. That's it. No last name. Just Lucas."

"I don't get it."

Dwayne rubbed at his eye, and Harper suddenly realized how tired he looked. "I don't either yet." He leaned on the edge of the table. "I suppose Keri mentioned there's been another murder?"

"Yeah. Can you tell me who?" She'd kept her mind from drifting to the question that made her stomach clench because she knew that whoever it was, she'd probably either know them or know them well . With a population of two thousand residents, Helena Springs was too small for that not to be the case.

"A man by the name of Isaac Driscoll, who lived in a cabin about twenty miles south of town."

She let out a slow breath. She didn't know that name. But …south? There was nothing south except plains, mountains, rivers, and valleys, miles and miles of unforgiving wilderness. Snow- and ice-covered unforgiving wilderness at the moment. Nothing particularly habitable…or so she'd thought.

Dwayne continued. "The victim was somehow able to reach his cell phone and dial 9-1-1. He didn't speak, but a cell tower helped pinpoint his location, and he died before Paul could get there. The old cell tower used to get us to within a thousand feet, but the new system gets us to within thirty. Nice piece of technology. Anyway, Paul thought it was probably the usual, a lost hiker or something of that nature." The lines around his eyes tightened for a moment. He looked concerned that those words would hit her in a personal way, and he was right.

But she shook off the feeling and focused on the situation at hand. A hiker? Anyone hiking out in that direction this time of year would have to have a few screws loose. Or…be very lost. The memory rose again, and with more effort, she mentally pushed it aside as Dwayne continued.

"When Paul got out to the remote area where the ping had come from, he spotted a cabin in the distance."

"Oh." She was surprised there was road access out that far or even flat land by which to travel.

"Luckily, there was a small break in the weather, so Paul could get out there because the snow really started coming down before he had even left the crime scene." Dwayne riffled through a folder on the table and pulled out what looked to be a photo printed from the internet. He handed it to Harper. "This is the victim. Ever see him on one of your tours?"

Harper studied him. He was a nondescript older man. Sixties. Gray, balding hair, glasses. Short beard. A thick neck leading her to believe he was stocky. Harper handed the photo back to Dwayne. "Not that I can remember."

Dwayne placed the picture back in the folder, and Harper glanced at the blank screen. "What does he have to do with all of this?"

Dwayne sighed again. "Suppose you heard about the murder weapon used on the woman staying at the Larkspur."

A statement, not a question, but Harper nodded. "I did." She didn't need to mention that Keri had confided to her—and half the town—that the woman had been shot with a bow and arrow at the one establishment in town that was available for out-of-town guests.

Harper grimaced internally at the picture that still formed in her mind when she thought of the unknown woman she'd heard about a week earlier, an arrow shot so powerfully that it had come out of the other side of her body and still had enough force to lodge in the wood of the wall.

"The weapon used in that crime is the same type of weapon used in Isaac Driscoll's murder."

"Oh," she breathed.

"Yeah. Unusual to say the least. Not too many people use them in general, and especially not to commit murder. Much less two. " Dwayne glanced at the blank screen the same way Harper had. "Paul had just left the scene and almost ran that guy over on his way out. Acted like he'd never seen a truck before—which, come to find out, maybe he hasn't. Anyway, Paul was already shaken having just discovered a macabre crime scene, and here this guy comes, right across his path, carrying a bow and arrows on his back."

Harper widened her eyes. "Carrying—You think he's the murderer?"

"He says he's not, and there's no evidence at this point to say he is except the bow and arrows. Though the one he was carrying has arrows different in appearance than the ones used in the two crimes. And there are spots for each arrow in the case he was carrying and none were missing. We took it into evidence. But add in the fact that he knows how to use one and that he lives in the vicinity of Isaac Driscoll, and he's at least a person of interest."

Harper stared at the sheriff for a moment. "They both live out there?"

"Appears so. Says he lives ten thousand, five hundred seventy-three steps from Driscoll, in the direction of the three mountain peaks."

"Huh?"

"I know. That's how he described the distance between their residences. Strange."

To say the least. She led guided tours into that wilderness—nature lovers, campers, hunters. But she couldn't imagine living there permanently—in every season. It would be…practically impossible to survive, at least without a whole hell of a lot of gear.

"Did they know each other?"

"Lucas says he traded things with Driscoll, who made trips into town. Fish Lucas caught for clothing items, etcetera. He said other than that they didn't have much of a relationship—he didn't consider the man a friend. Just someone he did business with."

Business. "Fish he caught? So…that man in there has never been to town?"

"That's what he says."

"So he couldn't have killed the woman at the bed-and-breakfast."

Dwayne shrugged. "We're going on his word alone right now because it's all we have. We won't have forensics back for a little while, but so far, nothing places him there. We really have nothing to hold him on."

Harper went back over Dwayne's words. Never been to town? Never been out of that wilderness? How was that possible? Her questions were endless. But that wasn't why Dwayne had asked her there. He wanted information from her, not the other way around. "I don't typically take tours south, and hunting is better east of the river. But in any case, I've never run across either one of them that I can remember. And I've never come across a dwelling of any sort. I'm as surprised as you are." Twenty miles made a hell of a difference as far as terrain, but it wasn't so far that someone couldn't live a more comfortable life in a populated town and still enjoy the wilderness for all it offered. She didn't get it.

Dwayne stood up from the table, gesturing to a small fridge near the door that she assumed held drinks. She shook her head, and he removed a water bottle, uncapping it and taking a long sip before saying, "We called in the Missoula crime lab to process the scene, but we've had to call in the Montana Department of Justice to investigate. We're simply not equipped to deal with a crime like this. The agent they sent is at the first crime scene at the Larkspur, but he should be back shortly to ask Lucas a few more questions. And"—he paused, creasing his brow as if he was worried about what her reaction would be to his next words—"I'm hoping you're okay that I've offered up your services. We could use your help."