Indelible (31 page)

With a borrowed cup filled with coffee, Trevor left Natalie’s, but not for home. Something didn’t sit right. Heading back to the Summit, he replayed the night before. A young girl gets sick and staggers off, loses her way, and gets disoriented. Did she want a high place to see where she was?

Not if she was plastered. That would take work to get up there, and she’d stay at the top, not climb down to the ledge. It didn’t make sense.

He parked and surveyed the wind-swept lot, strewn with aspen leaves and detritus, but almost free of snow. He stared up the direction they’d gone and made out the tip of the promontory. For all he knew, it was a place kids hung out.

Clearing his mind, he came at it from a different angle. This was a teenager. What would make her climb the mountain instead of going back inside, or, if the door had locked, working around to the front where people might help her?

Embarrassment? She might be horrified at having puked. Maybe she had it in her hair or on her clothes. Maybe she wanted snow or pine
needles to wipe it clean. With the ground blizzards, going even a little way could have disoriented her. He tried to make that fit and failed. Striding out, he searched for answers. Nothing along the way illuminated.

The promontory was closer than it seemed in the dark, but no less daunting. Last night, he climbed the face, but now he moved up the slope through the trees around the rocky protrusion. It was blown dry of snow at the top. He looked down, something sour in his mouth. Had she meant to jump? Was the booze to fortify her suicide?

He tied a rope to a trunk and lowered himself. Certainty made a fist in his stomach as he measured the distance by his own reach to the crest of the promontory. Now he knew what had bothered him last night.

He pulled back up to the top and went down the other way. It was less steep and drier on the windward side. He drove to the police station and was directed to a small office by the fluffy woman whose name tag read
RUTH MASON
.

Trevor knocked on the chief’s open door. “Can I talk to you?”

Pushing away from the desk, Jonah said, “It’s a little cramped, but.” He motioned to a folding chair.

Trevor remained standing. “I think there’s something you need to consider about Michaela’s accident.”

“I’m listening.”

“I was just up there, and there’s no way she got onto that ledge herself.”

Jonah leaned forward. “What do you mean?”

“You know she couldn’t climb the face. But the distance from the top is enough that dropping down would have carried her over, even sober.”

Jonah frowned. “If she didn’t climb up or drop down …”

“Someone lowered her.”

He slow-blinked. “Someone helped her down and left her there?”

“I don’t know if ‘help’ is the word. I just know she didn’t do it herself.” An examination of the scene would prove it.

The chief rubbed his jaw, holding his thoughts in the dark eyes.

“I left my rope on the pinnacle, if you want to check this out.”

“I will.” He stood up. “How are you doing?”

He gave a half shrug.

“You almost reached her.”

“You know how it is with almost.”

“I do.” He tapped his fingers on the back of his chair. “You know, Tia’s a trauma counselor. She debriefs my officers …”

“I talked to someone last night.” Well, not talked as much as watched her pull the pain out of him into the clay. “Any word on Michaela?”

“Concussion. Broken bones. Trevor, it could have been worse.”

“It could have not happened.”

Jonah nodded once. “We’ll get to the bottom of it.”

“Okay.” Leaving the station, he nearly walked into Jaz and stopped as if hitting a force field.

“Trevor.”

“I can’t tell you anything you haven’t heard already.”

“You were there. You almost reached her.”

He was starting to hate that word.

She blocked his sideways maneuver. “What were you doing at the station? Giving a statement?”

“I was checking on Michaela’s condition.”

She narrowed her eyes. “There’s something else. You know something.”

He studied her, then released a hard breath. “I don’t know anything, Jaz. I wish I did.”

From the top of the promontory, Jonah eyed the situation as Trevor had described it.

Moser shifted beside him. “We’re up here why?”

“Checking it out.” Ignoring the rope, he swung over the edge.

“Careful.” Moser said.

His feet touched only when he released his hold and slid, catching himself with the dangling rope. Trevor was right that Michaela’s momentum would have carried her over. How hard would it be for someone to lower her? Not difficult with her slight build. Looking down to the place she fell, he wished it could have been an accident. The thought of someone leaving her burned him up.

He started up the rope, Moser reaching down and pulling him over. “We have a crime scene, Moser. Gather a team and search the woods both sides of this promontory.”

“For what?”

“Evidence of another person.”

“You think someone took her, dragged her up here, and didn’t finish it?”

“Rescuing Michaela took all our attention and resources. If he left her dead, we’d have searched for him.” A daunting thought, looking at the forested slopes. “Interview everyone at the Summit last night. Someone might have seen her go out and taken advantage.”

“That means people we know, people she knew.”

Jonah said, “Yeah, and there may have been someone we don’t know. Have Lucas generate a list of people he served, even if it’s only a description.”

“Did they get”—Moser cleared his throat—“a rape kit?” It sickened him to say, “That’s my next call.”

He dropped Moser off and headed home. Tia met him at the door, her face tight. Sliding an arm around her shoulders, he went in. “I can’t fight with you right now.”

“Fight. Why would I fight?”

“Never mind.”

“Jonah.” She gripped his hand. “Is it Michaela?”

“I don’t think her fall was an accident.”

“You think she meant to jump?”

He shook his head.

She paled. “Someone pushed her?”

“No one pushed her.” He explained. Nothing about last night had fit what he knew about Michaela. Of all the scenarios, abduction made the most sense. And though people thought Redford a safe and wholesome place to raise kids, he knew better. His own father had taught him.

Looking past her at Sarge, he said, “I’m going to be pulling some long hours. I need you to be vigilant.” To Tia he added, “You and Sarge are tucked away up here, and if there’s someone around with evil intentions …”

“We have the dogs.”

Though she called them dogs, they were as much coyote. They’d be alert to trouble. “Still have your handgun, Sarge?” The man was so badly bent, no one would guess him a threat. They’d be wrong. He may have been a cook in the corps, but he wouldn’t hesitate to shoot.

The old man nodded. “I’ll keep your bride safe.”

Jonah threaded his fingers into Tia’s crazy auburn hair. “You guys stay close. Call if you need something.”

“We’re under house arrest?” She crooked a brow.

He kissed her temple, breathing in whatever scent blend she’d used, and whispered, “Just don’t leave Sarge if you can help it.”

“We’ll be fine.” Tia’s tone softened. “Don’t do this alone.”

“I’ll use everything I have.” Enola pressed her head into his hand and Scout pushed her aside to do the same. He rubbed both dogs. “Take care of each other.”

“Take care of yourself. No bullets this time.”

This was a wholly different situation than last fall, but he still had the strange sense of going into battle.

Man falls, deceiv’d
by the other first: Man therefore shall find grace,
the other none.

F
irst blood! But not the champion’s, unless the wound were to his pride. No fawning press, no victor’s parade. Failed! Unhorsed. Disgraced. And yet, no mortal wound delivered. The gentle hand of fate, extending mercy to her own.

Succored at that breast, this woeful warrior drank sparingly the loser’s draft. Excused and commended—well met, valiant lord—this field of loss a passing sorrow. For who was she to him?

A careless blow, precipitous. Fear-driven haste. Error.

For the tool, he mourned, broken and dismayed. The helpless paying the mighty one’s debt. For her, he wept, and for himself—another censure to his score. But he, no hope of mercy having, must complete the mandate given.

Nineteen

E
xhausted, yet disturbed by something, Trevor rolled to his back and cracked open his eyelids. “Jaz?”

“I need to talk to you.”

He blinked. “You are not in my bedroom.”

“It’s not like anything’s going to happen. Besides, it’s after twelve.”

And he’d been awake all night. “Out.” He rubbed his face. “I’ll get dressed and join you.” More than irritated, he threw on jeans and T-shirt and went into his kitchen where she was rummaging in his cabinets. “Want something?” He opened the fridge and drank from a carton of orange juice.

“I’d just love that OJ, now that you slobbered the carton.” She sounded snotty, but her eyes were bright. She was enjoying this—of course.

Hunger hit with the double punch of sleep deprivation and physical exertion. “Have you had lunch?”

“No.”

“I’ll make sandwiches.”

“What kind?”

“Tuna salad on ciabatta. It’s your only choice; take it or leave it.”

“That actually sounds good.”

He ran a knife through Piper’s homemade ciabatta rolls and peeled them open, then combined white albacore tuna, boiled eggs, some mayonnaise, chopped onion, and cilantro. “You want greens?”

“Sure.”

He laid fresh field greens over the tuna, closed the rolls, and handed over her plate.

“Thanks.” She looked slightly askance.

“You’re welcome.”

She took a bite. “That’s good.”

“I’ve perfected the recipe.”

She chewed and swallowed. “Why didn’t you tell me someone pushed that girl off?”

He frowned. “Where’d you hear that?”

“I don’t reveal sources.”

“Your source is wonky. No one pushed her.”

“Mmm. This is really good.” She dabbed mayonnaise from the corner of her mouth. “So why were you talking to the chief?”

“I told you.”

“But that’s not true. You’d have talked to the hospital for news on Michaela.”

“They can’t tell me. All that HIPAA stuff.”

“No. You know something.”

“I know lots of things.” He bit into his sandwich and made the most of the mouthful.

“Why do you always make me pry it out?”

“Jaz, if I knew something you should run with, I’d tell you. Talk to Chief Westfall.”

“Chief Westfall’s a vault. It takes dynamite to get anything out of him.”

He pulled a glass from the cabinet, ran it under the faucet, and drank. “Want some water?”

“You told him something. I know you, Trevor. You went out there and figured it out.”

Sometimes she was scary. He ate the last of his sandwich and washed it down with water, then tucked the glass and plate into the dishwasher.

“Where were you last night?”

He looked over his shoulder. “On the mountain.”

“After. I waited for you here.”

“You know, Jaz, I’d like my key back.”

She finished her sandwich and licked her finger. “That’s not the point.”

“It’s my point. You have no boundaries.” He held out his hand.

Glaring, she took it out and slapped it in his hand, but didn’t let go.

Fine. She wanted to know? “I was with Natalie.”

Her eyes widened. “It takes an idol?”

He leaned his head. “The statue is for Cody.”

“Whatever.” She released the key card. “I want to know if we have something to worry about in Redford.”

“Yes, Jaz. I think we do.”

Her face lit. “Tell me what you know.”

He did. “But you can’t say anything until the chief allows it.”

“Who else knows?”

“Just you and the police.”

Giddy, she clasped her hands. “I hate you less today.”

“Good. Did you find anything on that photo?”