BIG SKY SECRETS 03: End Game
Read BIG SKY SECRETS 03: End Game Online
Authors: Roxanne Rustand
Tags: #Christian romantic suspense
“What sort of work do you do, Mr. Anders?”
“I’m in the process of…changing gears.” The sardonic lift of his eyebrow telegraphed his disdain. “I’ll let you know.” Whistling to his dog, he turned on his heel.
Megan watched him go, taking in his almost military stride and the rigid set of his shoulders.
She’d come here hoping to find a solid lead that would finally tie the assaults and murders to a single suspect. Beyond just that folder of receipts, a gut-deep feeling told her that he wasn’t the one she was looking for.
But there was something else about him that wasn’t quite right—and she was definitely going to find out what Scott Anders was hiding.
Books by Roxanne Rustand
Love Inspired Suspense
*
Hard Evidence
*
Vendetta
*
Wildfire
Deadly Competition
**
Final Exposure
**
Fatal Burn
**
End Game
lives in the country with her husband and a menagerie of pets, many of whom find their way into her books. If not at her part-time day job as a registered dietitian, writing at home in her jammies, or spending time with family, you’ll probably find her out in the barn with the horses or with her nose in a book.
This is her twenty-third novel, and is the third book in the Big Sky Secrets series. Her first manuscript won a Romance Writers of America Golden Heart Award, and her second manuscript was a Golden Heart Award finalist. Since then, she has been an
RT Book Reviews
Career Achievement Award nominee in 2005, and won the magazine’s award for Best Superromance of 2006.
She loves to hear from readers! Her snail-mail address is P.O. Box 2550, Cedar Rapids, Iowa 52406-2550. You can also find her at www.roxannerustand.com, www.shoutlife.com/roxannerustand.com, or at her blog, where readers and writers talk about their pets, http://roxannerustand.blogspot.com/.
ROXANNE RUSTAND
Send forth your light and your truth, let them guide me; let me bring peace to your holy mountain, to the place where you dwell.
—
Psalms
43:3
Don’t worry about anything. Instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done. If you do this, you will experience God’s peace, which is far more wonderful than the human mind can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Jesus Christ.
—
Philippians
4:6–7
With many thanks to Kylie Brant and Cindy Gerard for the fun, the friendship and our plotting weekends—and always, to Dani and Ben with love!
ONE
“I
won’t stop until I find this guy, Anna.” Seeing the raw pain in her friend’s eyes, Megan Peters took a deep breath and forced back the memories threatening to swamp her. “I promise.”
“How?” Anna lashed out, pulling her hands away from Megan’s. “I didn’t see his face. I don’t know who it was, and neither did the other woman who got away. And the two
dead
girls won’t be talking.”
The bitterness in Anna’s voice stung Megan as if she’d been slapped. “No. But the DNA—”
“Hasn’t matched anyone in the system so far, and probably never will, right? This guy will never be caught.”
“But it does connect the crimes, so when we get him, we’ll be able to send him away for good. There’ll be a time when someone picks up on a clue. Someone else who escapes.”
They both fell silent, Megan’s words a chilling re minder of the two women who had been raped and murdered within the past six months. If a group of noisy hikers hadn’t come by and scared off her attacker, Anna might have been number three.
“We’re doing our best,” Megan added quietly. “And we
will
get him.”
It wasn’t an idle promise, and Megan could only hope Anna believed it. The younger woman had been a county 911 dispatcher for five years before resigning last winter, and she’d seen Megan in action. She also knew why this case mattered to Megan so much.
Anna turned away to brace her hands on the window-sill of the tiny Marshall County sheriff’s office. “But until he’s caught, he’ll continue to prey on women, and that could go on for the next decade.” Her voice rose. “I
know
how few deputies work this county, remember? Not enough. And it’s huge. He could hide up in some remote cabin in the mountains and never be found.”
Megan waited a few moments for her to calm down. “Or he could be someone we see every day in town, and he could start making mistakes. If there’s ever anything you can remember, call me, day or night. His shoes. Something in his voice. A gesture—”
Anna spun around, her face pale, a hand at the jagged, healing wound at the base of her neck. The bandages and sutures were gone now, leaving gnarled, dark pink flesh that would become a fainter scar in time. But Megan knew the real wounds—the emotional trauma and deep fear—were far worse, and might never fully heal.
“I came in once more because you asked me to, but please don’t ask me again. It was dark. He didn’t speak. Living through it all again and again is more than I can bear.”
“I understand.” At the anguish twisting Anna’s lovely features, Megan felt a corner of her heart tear. “I’m more sorry than I could ever say, about everything you’ve been through.”
Anna’s mouth lifted in a sad smile. “I know you’re trying. Look, I—I need to get back home. Lance has to leave for work at three, and I have to take care of Jeremy.”
Megan watched her old friend zip up her heavy jacket, slip out the front door and limp down the sidewalk to the station wagon parked close by. At the driver’s side Anna cast a swift, uneasy glance in both directions, then she slid behind the wheel.
Still in off-season for a few more weeks, until the end of May, when the mountain passes were more likely to be clear of snow, the town of Copper Cliff and the surrounding rural areas claimed less than four thousand year-round residents. Only a few of them were on Main Street now. Yet Megan had no doubt that Anna had hit the locks the second she got into her car.
A routine most of the local women now followed without fail day or night…in a town where no one had ever locked their doors until a killer had slipped into their midst.
“Any luck?”
At the sound of heavy footsteps and the scent of Old Spice aftershave behind her, she turned to face Hal Porter, the sheriff. She shook her head. “I was hoping she’d had time to sift through what happened. There just has to be something she can tell us.”
“Unless she’s too terrified to speak up.”
“I can understand that with the other woman who escaped after being assaulted. But given Anna’s years as a dispatcher, I thought there’d be a better chance that she could give us
something
to work with.” Megan slashed a hand in the air. “I can’t believe a guy could attack some one and never say a single word.”
“I agree.”
She lifted her eyes to meet Hal’s weary gaze. “But whatever the guy said was so vicious, so threatening, she’s afraid to talk. What kind of animal
is
he?”
“We’ll find him. It’s just gonna take time.” Hal shook his head slowly as he turned back to his office, his decades of law enforcement clearly weighing more heavily on his shoulders with every passing month.
He didn’t have to say it—she’d noticed the faraway look in his eyes and knew he was contemplating retirement. His wife, Greta, had been fighting cancer for a long time, and had recently taken early retirement from the local high school. He probably longed to spend his days with her…for whatever time she had left.
But he’d never been a man who’d walk away from trouble, or one who could leave a job undone. And no matter what called to him in his personal life, she knew he wanted to retire with this case closed, or he’d feel as if he’d failed.
Hal paused at his desk. “Go home, Megan. I mean it. You’ve been here well over your twelve hours al ready.”
“It’s still not enough.” But when he folded his arms across his chest and gave her his trademark implacable stare, she checked her service belt, pulled the patrol car keys from her pocket and headed for the back door.
Going home without answers meant another day the killer roamed free, and the thought rankled.
Even after nine years as a county deputy known for being tough and in control, there was one kind of situation that still sent secret waves of nausea and anxiety through Megan’s gut. And this time, yet another good friend had been a victim.
Men who preyed on women—whether domestic bullies or the animal now loose in Marshall County—had been a personal vendetta of hers since the day she’d gone into law enforcement, and that would continue until the day she took off her badge.
For the sake of all the women in the county—especially Anna, and Greta, a sweet, devoted woman who deserved more time with her husband before she died, Megan was going to make sure this case was solved.
And
soon
.
Scott Anders nodded at the clerk’s farewell, gathered up his four canvas grocery bags and headed out to his truck.
From the day he’d moved to Montana, he’d been startled by the overt interest of the shopkeepers in Copper Cliff, who all seemed to know his name and even where he’d bought property up in the hills, as though through some sort of small-town osmosis.
The gum-chewing, fortysomething gal at the cash register of Roy’s Grocery apparently counted him as an old friend, updating him on her teenagers, mother and husband, Erwin, every time Scott came in for supplies. At the tiny local drug store, Ralph, the elderly druggist, regaled him with tales of his grandchildren.
After a lifetime of anonymity in Chicago, the unexpected attention of everyone, from the guy at the feed mill to the gas station attendant, had initially set off alarms in his head; born of the instinctive wariness that had kept him safe on the streets for fifteen long years.
Now, he knew that the collective friendliness was something extended to all year-round residents, because there were just so few of them around. Though after running a gauntlet of shopkeepers during his monthly trips into town, Scott invariably heaved a sigh of relief when he could finally head back up into the foothills.
Jasper, his black lab, stirred on the front seat of the truck and hung his head out the passenger window to stare at the coffee shop across the street when Scott climbed behind the wheel.
Scott sighed. “We really oughta get back home.”
Jasper looked at him again and whined, his sorrowful expression speaking louder than any words.
From experience, Scott knew that if he didn’t make the required trip across the street, the old dog would avoid meeting his eyes for the rest of the day, and the sulk could even stretch into tomorrow.