Death on Heels (36 page)

The letter wasn’t signed, but there was only one person who called her Chantilly Lace.

The note had been slipped under Lacey’s door sometime in the night. At first glance she thought it must be the motel bill, a day or two early. Lacey opened the door and peeked out into the hall in the early-morning light. Everything was quiet.

Tucker must have had Kit deliver the message
, she thought.
He wouldn’t have chanced it himself.
He’s not that crazy
.

“Lacey, what’s up?” Vic was right behind her. His breath tickled her neck.

“Tucker sent me a letter.”
First ever
.

“God help him, that boy is a fool. Let me see.”

Vic reached for it, but she dodged his hand. She wanted to finish reading it before handing it over.

Tucker described this last line camp as “nearly forgotten.” It had even slipped his mind. The land ownership was unknown, and no one had occupied the place in years, so far as he knew. It could only be reached via a jeep trail or on horseback. Tucker had seen it a month or
so ago, from a distance, mounted on Ricochet. He said it looked like someone had fixed it up a little. Maybe to use as a shelter during hunting season. Maybe someone who just wanted to be left alone. Or maybe to hide sins away, he said.

Lacey turned the paper over. On the back was a rough map, with this note:
You have to hike in the last half mile from the jeep trail. Watch out for rattlesnakes.

She handed it to Vic. “It could be some kind of trap,” he said, reading it. “What if it’s Tucker’s own hideout, despite everything he says?”

“What if Emily is alive?” Lacey was willing to grab any bit of hope. “Besides, Tucker already had me trapped, and he lent me a horse. He even escorted me part of the way back. And he knows everything he tells me, I’m going to tell you. Does he expect to trap every lawman in Northwest Colorado?”

“Lacey, sweetheart.” Vic wrapped her in his arms. “T-Rex and Firestone are going to check out both of those other cabins today. But now there’s a third cabin? Nobody’s going to like it if Tucker’s playing us, leading us around by our noses on some phony scavenger hunt.”

“Tucker just wants to go home. To his horses and his cows.”

“Honey, you don’t want to send these guys on a wild goose chase. They’ll never trust you again.”

“They don’t trust me now! I don’t trust them. But I trust Cole Tucker. If I couldn’t trust him, I wouldn’t be here right now. And I trust you.”

“What do you want me to do about this?”

She waved the map. “Couldn’t we just take a drive and check it out? Hit the jeep trail? Go see this third cabin for ourselves?”

“Not a good idea.”

Lacey grabbed Vic’s arms. “You can’t think like a cop now. You’re a private investigator, and PIs have to follow their instincts and protect their clients.”

“Without doing anything explicitly illegal. And Tucker’s not my client.”

“How about me? I’ll be your client. There is nothing
illegal about taking a drive in the country. Nothing illegal about this note. Especially not if it saves Emily Ogden. And we are under no obligation to disclose the contents of our mail to anyone. This note isn’t even signed. Call it an anonymous tip.”

He sighed. Dramatically. “Okay, client. Maybe we’ll check it out. You up for a drive? I know how you love the Yampa County countryside.”

“I adore you, Vic,” she said.

“I know.” He kissed her, then considered. “No one in his right mind would be fixing up an old cabin out in the wilderness that they don’t own. And the killer’s taking these women
somewhere
.” He examined the map closely under the desk lamp. “Huh.”

“What now?” Lacey leaned over his shoulder.

“Tucker found a cabin
here
? This place is a lot closer to Sagebrush than those other cabins. It’s in some rugged country though. And what in hell is that idiot doing still hanging around, riding the range, making a target of himself, sending you love letters? Any self-respecting outlaw would be out of the state by now,” Vic grumbled.

“It’s not because of me, Vic, dear. It’s because he’s
not
an outlaw. Tucker’s got an irrational affection for this hard land and this hard life. He just wants to get back to it.”

Someone tapped softly at the door. They both froze.

“Who is it?” Lacey called out.

“Tony. I come in peace, Smithsonian.”

Lacey cracked the door open and held her robe closed. “Trujillo? It’s a little early.” She poked her head out and looked up and down the empty hallway.

“I’m still on East Coast time, Lois Lane,” Tony replied. “It’s already eight-thirty back in Washington.”

“Mac said we wouldn’t start work till nine Eastern time. Where’s your evil twin?”

“He’s having coffee. Mac couldn’t sleep, so he woke me at six. I’ve given you a big half-hour grace period. But your presence is requested. Make that commanded. Editorial meeting. About the latest missing woman. Café near the lobby, next to the bar.”

“Give me twenty minutes,” Lacey said. “Order me some—never mind, I’ll do it when I get there.” Tony saluted and left.

“I’m going with you,” Vic said, behind her. “To your meeting.”

Lacey was surprised. “It’s just work.”

“You’re not giving me the slip this time.” He smiled grimly.

“Me?
You’re
the one who had to go talk to Brad Owens last night.”

“And you had to go to Ladies’ Night at the Red Rose?”

“I don’t have time to recycle this argument, darling. I’m getting dressed. We can start a brand-new fight later.”

They each stomped off to their respective bathrooms for showers. Lacey put on jeans, silk thermal underwear, and a thick black turtleneck. Everyone looks good in black, and a woman can’t have too many black sweaters: one of Lacey’s style rules. Her old hiking boots: not beautiful, but practical and sturdy. She filled her leather backpack with her essentials: purse, notebook, pens, digital camera, batteries, extrastrength moisturizer, sunscreen, makeup, scarf. A couple of bottles of water, refilled from the tap. Granola bars for snacks. And a silent prayer for Emily’s safety, for Tucker’s, for her own and for Vic’s. Then she was ready. Vic’s gaze took in the jeans, the hiking boots, and the backpack. He whistled.

“You look adorable, mountain girl.”

“Don’t get used to it.” She kissed him, admiring his faded jeans and dark green sweater that brought out the jade color of his eyes. Lacey always found the dangerous expression in them sexy and inviting, but she didn’t have time right now. Her cell phone rang as she was sweeping a little mascara onto her lashes.

“You’re late,” Trujillo complained.

“On my way.” Lacey clicked off. She gave Vic a quick kiss and headed for the door. “Give me half an hour with Mac and Tony and then drag me away, would you, sweetheart?”

*   *   *

“I see we’ve got the full-court makeup,” Tony said from behind his laptop. “Goes well with the mountain-mama look.”

“Standards are standards,” Lacey sniffed, and pulled up a chair.

Mac wore his new boots and jeans and Western shirt. The cowboy hat had a place of honor on its own chair.
Thank goodness he stopped short of loading up on turquoise Indian jewelry too
, Lacey thought.
I’m to be congratulated.

“Morning,” Mac grumbled into his coffee.

“Well, if it isn’t Hopalong Jones,” she said. “You plan on rounding up some cattle, Mac?”

“Just reporters,” Mac replied calmly. A smiling Trujillo wore his usual jeans, turtleneck, and cowboy boots. He was also exercising his usual Western charm on women, women who weren’t Lacey. He’d already charmed the waitress, who had a big smile on her face, despite the early hour and the regrettable pea green uniform she was wearing. She came running over with a fresh pot of coffee.

Remembering keenly the last time she was out in the county without services (or breakfast) for fifty miles, Lacey ordered a serious breakfast of bacon and eggs, coffee and toast, home fries, and fruit.

Mac’s eyebrows, the barometer that measured his mood, rose in semicircles of surprise. “If you’re finished ordering a breakfast the size of Wyoming, give me an update on this Emily Ogden.” Mac had a giant cinnamon roll on his plate. His laptop was already sticky with icing. He was hardly in a position to comment on her menu choices.

“You got my e-mail,” she said.

“I’ve already checked with the cops and the sheriff,” Tony said. “No sign of Emily in Sagebrush. CBI is still processing her car and apartment. The sheriff’s department had no comment, said it was a ‘city case.’ Since when is this place a city? And this CBI agent, Rico Firestone? Couldn’t get ahold of him. He’s in the field, not answering his cell.”

“Let me guess, Tony. You want a double byline?” She frowned, but there was nothing she could do about it.

“That’s right.” He grinned broadly. “We’re ready to file. Partner.”

“This Emily, you figure she’s another victim?” Mac bit into the cinnamon roll and followed it with a slurp of coffee and a smacking of lips.

“Yes, that’s how I figure it. Emily Ogden’s best friend was frantic last night.”

“Could it be a false alarm? Took off on a road trip, didn’t tell anyone?”

Lacey’s gut instinct hadn’t changed. “I don’t think so. Emily’s car is parked at her apartment. Since Monday after work she hasn’t contacted her job, her parents, or her best friend, who says they normally swap a hundred texts a day. I believe that’s in there, in
my
story. I’d love to be mistaken. But I’m not.”

“Just checking,” Mac said.

“If the killer has Emily— Well, we don’t know how long he holds them before— This is the most important part, Mac. She might still be alive.”

Tony nodded. “The CBI thinks they were all held for at least a few days before they were killed.”

“Damn,” Mac said. “I hate to get out of D.C. and go off to a quiet corner of the country and see the same twisted stuff happening.”

Turning heads as he walked into the café, Vic Donovan joined the party.

“Donovan. Joining the staff?” Mac asked.

“Better get used to me.” Vic gestured to the waitress and pulled up a chair next to Lacey. “I’m not leaving Lacey’s side today. When I do, things happen.”

“Things?” Tony egged him on. “What kind of things?”

“Strange things. Dangerous things. Things that don’t happen to other people.”

“But newsworthy things,” Mac added. “There’s an upside to everything.”

“You guys are easily amused,” Lacey said. “And Mac, I’m supposed to take a few days off. Personal leave, remember?”

“I suppose you’re going to tell me you’re suffering from posttraumatic shock?”

Everyone else has suggested it.
“Not at the moment. But it could strike without warning.”

“Unless you’re dying, all personal leave is revoked due to breaking news. And remind me to pick up some Maalox,” Mac said. He liked to reach for that little blue bottle of bliss when Lacey made his stomach flip over. When Lacey was breaking news that came with a sidebar of danger.

“Who’s minding
The Eye
? You said you could barely afford to let me take leave. Then you show up in Sagebrush with Tony, like the East Coast cavalry. It’s pretty weird.”

“You were abducted!
The Eye Street Observer
isn’t going to close its eyes when that happens to one of our own. Good golly Moses, Smithsonian. And did you check out our stories online? Courthouse drama, fugitive on the run, silver bootheel. It’s golden! Got a ton of hits.”

“Beat out the congressional budget story,” Tony said.

“I’ll print it out for my scrapbook, Mac. But I’m safe now.”

“That’s why you brought your bodyguard?” Lacey gave her editor The Look. He laughed. “Not a bad idea, you having a bodyguard. I’m just asking. Don’t worry about
The Eye
. Claudia’s manning the news desk.”

“Claudia Darnell?” If the publisher of
The Eye Street Observer
herself was pitching in, times were strange indeed.

“Had an unhealthy gleam in her eye. Said she missed handling copy, and I’d rather not witness her in action.” Mac paused for effect. “She’s also got this
idea
.”

“You’ll love it,” Tony piped up.

“What kind of idea?” Lacey was curious but wary. Big bosses with big ideas usually spelled trouble.

“True crime books. Publish them ourselves,” Mac continued. “You know the kind of story, one where we’ve got a reporter on the scene, or inside the scene. Like this one. This story’s got it all, Smithsonian. Multiple murders, kidnapped
reporter, fugitive from justice, even a posse, for crying out loud. Maybe
The Eye
could make some money for a change.”

“You can’t be serious!” Lacey didn’t think she could be shocked, but she was.

“We’re trying to think of ways to save the newspaper.”

“Come on, Lois Lane,” Tony said. “You know the stuff, sensational but accurate. What we do best. Three-way byline.”

“Three-way byline?” This was really too much. Lacey wasn’t willing to fracture her byline any further.

“You, me, and Mac. We slam it out in six weeks. It’ll be half written already. We’re doing all the legwork right now anyway. We compile all our news stories, write some narrative, add witness sidebars, throw in some analysis, wrap it all up in a lurid eye-catching cover. E-book edition too.” Tony flashed his dazzling smile.

That snake-oil smile only means trouble, and lots of work.

“But nothing’s settled yet!” Lacey protested. “The story’s still in motion. Cole Tucker is still out there. And Emily might be—” She closed her eyes, as if that could block everything out. Working on a book with Tony and Mac? There would be untold numbers of fights. Not to mention late nights slogging through copy.

The waitress scooted over with Lacey’s plate and a fresh pot of coffee. She took Vic’s order for waffles and sausage.

“At any rate, we’ll be here at least a couple more days,” Mac said. “Anything we can do to help find this missing woman?”

Lacey dug into her breakfast. She tapped Vic’s boot under the table. “Um. Probably not. Just let the authorities do their thing,” she said.