Montana Refuge (2 page)

“Are you insinuating you believe this man’s story even after you know he used you?”

“No, sir, no, but he must have had some agenda and it couldn’t be a good one if he went about it...this way.” She had to fight the urge to lower her gaze in shame.

“Yes, you’re right,” he finally said. “I did need to know, mostly about the kind of woman I employ. At the very least, you are incredibly naive. The words used to describe you after that are considerably less flattering.” He stood and stared down at her, his dark eyes burning. “I expect you to be out of this office within the hour.”

She took a steadying breath, a protest dying on her lips. “I’ll do whatever you ask. Can you just tell me who that man really is?”

“I don’t have the slightest idea,” he said firmly. “Now, get out.”

She didn’t argue.

Within a half hour, she’d dumped the contents of her desk drawer into a cardboard box and carted it outside. Not stopping for even a backward glance, she walked down the busy sidewalk wrapped in a bubble of invisibility. She’d felt this way once before in her life, a year or so ago, when she’d come face-to-face with the fact that her marriage was over.

But she wasn’t in Montana anymore, she was in Portland, Oregon. Instead of high mountains and cattle trails, she now walked the city streets of the Pacific Northwest. Different climate and situation, same desolate feelings of failure and guilt.

Why had she trusted Roger Trill?

Her bus stop was up ahead and she approached it with leaden feet, pausing at the edge of a cluster of other waiting people, standing next to a woman wearing a purple scarf.

The brisk wind that blew up the gorge and over the river tangled Julie’s long hair. Almost dizzy with regret, she closed her eyes until she sensed the shift of the crowd and opened them in time to find the bus approaching.

The push came from nowhere, a shove in the middle of her back that sent her catapulting into the street. The box flew from her arms as she fell and the collective gasp of the onlookers mingled with the screech of air brakes as the noise of traffic faded away.

She hit first on her knees, then her hands, her forehead banging against the pavement, coming to rest with her right cheek smashed against the road. Huge tires filled her vision. Diesel fumes scorched her throat. It was too late.

Hands grabbed her, yanked her, pulled her. The bus doors squealed open and a driver exploded from within. “What the hell?” he shouted. “You trying to kill yourself, jumping out in front of my bus like that? You crazy, lady?”

Things were fuzzy. People were picking up her belongings and putting them back in the box and it seemed unreal. Somehow she’d ended up sitting on the curb, stomach rolling, head throbbing, knees and hands embedded with gravel while her unruly hair whipped around her head.

A policeman knelt down beside her. He was in his thirties with piercing blue eyes and a fuzz of brown hair. His smile was movie star quality as he tried to reassure her.

She wasn’t even sure how he got there or when. He introduced himself as Officer Yates and talked to her about a psych evaluation which wasn’t surprising considering the bus driver was still telling anyone who would listen that she’d jumped in front of him.

She shook her head which made her want to throw up. “No,” she said. “I was pushed.”

She said it in a whisper. The policeman looked up and around and so did she. Some of the crowd had dispersed. A few remained, including the woman in the purple scarf.

The policeman questioned each of them. What had they seen or heard? Very little, it seemed. He took names and numbers. The last person he approached was the woman in the purple scarf. “I heard what she said,” the woman said, nodding at Julie. “She might be right.”

Officer Yates wrote on a pad. “You saw something?”

“Yes. A man in a black hoodie thing. He was standing behind her. I saw his hand come out of the pouch on the front. Now that I think about it, he might have pushed her.”

“Did you see his face?”

“No. He was wearing sunglasses, that’s all I can tell you.”

“Young, old? Short, tall? Thin, heavy build?”

“I couldn’t say about age. I’m old enough almost everyone looks young. His sunglasses were big and had those orange lenses that you don’t see much anymore. He was just a medium-size guy. Oh, and he wore a silver watch.”

“Do you remember anything else about the watch?”

“No, just that it was silver.”

“And what did this guy do after the accident?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t watching him. We were all watching her, you see. I thought for sure she was a goner. It wasn’t until she was safe that I wondered about what I’d seen, but by then the man in the hoodie was gone.”

The officer told the woman he’d be in touch, then he ushered Julie into his car and drove her to the emergency room where a nurse used tweezers to pick asphalt from the abrasions on her hands and knees. Next came ointments, bandages and a tetanus shot. She was asked a few questions about how many fingers the doctor held in front of her face and who was president of the United States, then she was released.

The policeman had waited for her. “I’d like you to come look at some mug shots if you’re up to it,” he said.

Julie blinked in confusion. “Mug shots?”

“We have a few troublemakers working this district. Lately they’ve been distracting women and stealing their pocketbooks.”

“And you think that’s what happened to me?”

“I think it’s a possibility. Maybe someone got a little too enthusiastic and pushed too hard. Then when they saw what happened to you, they were afraid to take the handbag because everyone was watching. I’ll ask the other people at the stop to come down and give it a go, too. I don’t suppose you can add anything to the description the older woman gave?”

“I was preoccupied,” Julie mumbled. “I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Well, you can do it tomorrow if you’d rather. We might get lucky.”

“Might as well get it over with,” Julie said.

He drove her back downtown where she carted her pitiful box of desk contents upstairs to a desk where he produced two books of mug shots and asked if she’d like something hot to drink. Julie requested coffee and he left to get it for her as she started what she suspected would be the pointless process of looking through the books. She’d been way too focused on her own problems to notice anyone but the lady in the purple scarf.

She looked around the room, wishing that the coffee would arrive as her head had begun to pound and some of the pictures in the book even blurred. Officer Yates must have gotten sidetracked.

She rubbed her temples as two men came into view walking down the hallway that ran on the other side of the interior windows. They stopped more or less across from her. Their body language caught her attention and shading her eyes, she looked at them surreptitiously through the gaps between her fingers. Whatever they were talking about had at least one of them pretty upset. She could hear a raised voice.

The man closest to her was of dark complexion and built like a linebacker. He was the one doing most of the talking, punctuating his sentences with jabs of a finger. The other man was shorter with an average build, sharp features, colorless eyes and thin lips. He wore a badge on his belt and it showed because he’d pushed his jacket aside to bury his hands in his trouser pockets.

In a world gone topsy-turvy, she recognized Roger Trill and he carried the same badge Officer Yates had shown her.

What was he doing here?

He glanced up as though sensing someone staring at him. She’d dropped her hand in surprise and their gazes locked. He appeared as shocked to see her as she was to see him.

He instantly interrupted his fellow officer and moved quickly down the hall toward the door leading into this office. Julie looked around frantically. Part of her wanted to stand her ground and demand to know what game he was playing. Another part of her, the part that relied on instinct, said get away.
Now!

There was a second exit at the far end of the room. She grabbed her handbag from the floor and took off toward that door, scooting past people as fast as she dared, waiting for one of them to stop her. She looked back only once to see if Trill or whoever he really was, had followed. He was behind her, all right, his face set in a grim frown. She glimpsed the glint of silver on his wrist as he pushed a chair out of the way. His face was rigid with fury....

Julie exited into the stairwell and ran up a flight of stairs, sure Trill would assume she went down. She paused midstep as the door below her opened. Trill’s footsteps pounded down the well as the door closed behind him. Julie resumed climbing.

She didn’t know the building. She wasn’t sure how to hide or how to get away. She fled to the women’s restroom, but that was hardly a long-term solution. All she carried was her handbag and her only loose clothing was her now-smudged and torn raincoat. The damn thing was as red as a cape at a bullfight. Add her waist-length black hair and the fact she was five foot seven inches to say nothing of the blinding-white bandage wrapped around her head and she knew she stood out.

Looking at herself in the mirror, she chose the most obvious solution. Off came the bandage, revealing the scrapes on her forehead. She left the one covering her cheek in place as it was tinged pink in places and a bandage had to be better than blood dripping off her jaw. Up went her hair. She turned her lightweight coat inside out to reveal the tan lining and pulled the hood up over her head.

Sunglasses from the depths of her purse came next. She still looked like Julie Chilton, but maybe not if you were expecting different attire. It would have to do. It took every ounce of courage she had left to head back to the stairs.

The trip through the station was nerve-racking even though she more or less ran the whole time. Trill had pushed her in front of a bus, she was sure of it. She couldn’t prove it, though, she just knew....

Somehow she reached the sidewalk without incident and crossed the street. She hurried along with her head down and caught the first city bus that came by. She didn’t care about its route as long as it took her away from this area. It actually traveled past the station again and she peeked carefully through the window. Trill stood on the sidewalk, looking north and then south. As she watched, he took from his breast pocket a pair of sunglasses and perched them on his nose.

They had orange lenses.

She couldn’t go to her office because James Killigrew hated the sight of her. She couldn’t go home because Trill knew where she lived. She’d resided in Oregon less than a year and the one friend she’d made was a neighbor who worked swing shift at a restaurant and then checked in on her ailing brother before finally arriving home around midnight. Even if Nora was home, though, how could Julie add to her responsibilities, and how could Nora possibly help?

Whatever was going on, Julie knew she’d landed smack-dab in the middle of it. Someone wanted her dead. Why would Trill lie to her about being a policeman? Why would he try to eliminate her when she called to challenge him? For that matter, how did he know she’d called his phony office if he didn’t work there? Or did he know?

How did things get to this point? What did she do now?

Chapter Two

Tyler Hunt, whistling a tune that was stuck in his head, looked up from unloading bags of grain when he heard the approach of a vehicle. An airport shuttle van rambled down the road, carrying, no doubt, either a Boston attorney named Red Sanders or a doctor by the name of Rob Marquis. Everyone else had already arrived.

The Hunt ranch was a working operation covering thousands of acres of land. Anyone who signed up for the biyearly cattle drive had to be willing to work because what went on here was the real deal. Cows and their calves had to be herded from the winter pastures in the basin up to the high mountain pastures for summer grazing; greenhorns and pros worked together to make it happen.

The shuttle stopped in the big parking area and a middle-aged man with a handlebar mustache and brand-new buckskin chaps climbed out of the back. Hard to tell which he was, a doctor or a lawyer. As the driver retrieved his suitcase, the man looked around with a big grin on his ruddy face. Tyler smiled; enthusiasm always boded well.

A slam of the door up at the house announced Tyler’s mother, Rose Hunt, had also witnessed the arrival and taken time from stocking the chuck wagon to play hostess. A tiny dynamo of a woman who Tyler knew was as tough as the earth she tended, twice as strong as she looked and four times as softhearted, she walked out to the van with a little less enthusiasm than usual, exchanged pleasantries with the driver and picked up the newcomer’s suitcase as the van took off back toward town.

Tyler heard the name Sanders float across the yard—the guy in the chaps had to be the lawyer—as John Smyth, another guest who had arrived earlier in the day, came out of the house. He took the suitcase from Tyler’s mother, who seemed reluctant to release it. As Smyth turned to the lawyer, Rose took off toward the house. It apparently didn’t occur to Red to tote his own bag. Couldn’t help but wonder how a guy like that was going to handle herding cattle without someone holding his hand, but you never knew.

Smyth was a strapping, tall man in his late thirties with dark eyes, a quick wit and helpful disposition. He’d been here only a few hours, but Tyler had spotted him everywhere, talking to everyone, listening with the kind of concentration that encouraged people to open up. He seemed particularly interested in the workings of the ranch and appeared to be a natural when it came to riding and roping.

Tyler kept at the grain, whistling as he worked. There were a good dozen sacks left to unload and tote inside the barn. Rose would make the lawyer feel at home, serve him up something cold to drink, introduce him to the others, get him started with orientation. Then later Tyler would make a grand entrance and give a little pep talk.

Another vehicle caught his attention. This one was familiar, too, as it was the farrier’s big white rig. Tyler had been expecting him for hours and was relieved he’d made it. One of the horses they used to pull the chuck wagon had thrown a shoe the day before, so Lenny had had to make an unscheduled visit three weeks earlier than usual. Tyler threw a sack down on top of the others and jumped out of the truck.