Spirit Lake (29 page)

“The hired gun could be living in any of those cabins along the north shore."

“But with the story in the paper now, he's scared. That buys us time. Let's try to fit the pieces together."

The boat bobbed against a gust of wind. “As in what pieces?"

“We've found a woman's body, a crayon box, and a sextant."

Her fingers slipped on the throttle, slowing the boat. “The woman on ice at the morgue was inside a big musky minnow cage. This seems like one for John to figure out. Not us."

“Where would she have floated from in that cage?"

Gritting her teeth over getting involved, she did anyway. “The winds tend to come from the west and north on most days, and they switch around from the east during storms."

“Somebody may have rented one of those cabins along that shoreline for something more than fishing. Someone has to have seen Rojas, or whoever this killer is. But who?"

A sinking feeling gripped Laurel. “My mother?"

“Madelyn?"

“She said the guy in her rental cabin had bought a muskie minnow cage.” Then she remembered something. “This doesn't make sense. She said there was a dark-haired man in May who bought one, too."

Lowering his hand, Cole straightened. “Mike? But Mike wasn't much into fishing."

“But what if Mike had decided to do a little fishing anyway and left the minnow cage behind? This guy who's been sneaking around my place,” she said, fear suddenly clawing at her throat, “maybe he found Mike's minnow cage and used it to try and sink the woman's body for your boss. He may have killed her. But why bring the body to Wisconsin?” That made no sense.

“What if she hadn't just disappeared, as Rojas made people think?"

“As Buzz reported in that article."

“What if she escaped my boss alive with one of his hitmen for me, who brought her here?"

Laurel shuddered. “But why here?"

“To lure me out. Rojas used women and I suspect this is part of the game. When John discovered all of Rojas's girlfriends have been blondes or redheads, Wiley picked up on it..."

“How does a drunk know so much? I noticed he was quoted an awful lot in that article in this morning's paper."

When Cole averted his gaze to the shoreline again, she pressed, “What about Wiley?"

“He's turns out to be the man in my photo."

“The young officer?” She could barely believe it.

“Wiley knows Senator Goetz."

“Who?"

“From Florida, anchors an expensive yacht in our marina, next to Rojas's. Heads the CIA oversight committee in Congress. Wiley's been digging. He found out that Goetz and Rojas are buddies."

The dizzying information befuddled Laurel. “But do power brokers in D.C. let an old drinking buddy resurface to swap war stories?"

“Smart woman. Wiley soon got phones slammed in his ear. Word spread like wildfire that he was fishing for information about Rojas. That's when Wiley got mad. He knows there's something big they're hiding, something so big about Rojas that the CIA oversight committee wants to keep hush-hush."

Laurel recalled Mike's note. “Your brother said not to take this to the CIA. Do you think he said that because they'd somehow tip off Rojas before we catch him?"

“We?” He scowled.

“Yes, we.” She squared her shoulders to mask the icy tremors racking her. “But why wouldn't your boss have sent men here to do his dirty work, to just..."

“Snuff me out?” Cole picked up the fishing rod she kept in the bottom of the boat, flicked it, watching the spoon with its several hooks strike the water's surface. “Oh, he likely has sent somebody. Maybe a whole army lurking in the woods, but the problem is, a man of his stature won't openly kill me when I'm with you."

“Me?” Lightning bolts skipped through her nerves.

“Like it or not, you're well-known enough in the environmental fields, what with your governor's awards, that Rojas must know taking me out means risking his own hide."

“You mean I've been your shield all this time?” Tremors radiated through her blood, stilling her heart almost.

“I only guessed it when John and Wiley began putting together pieces about Rojas and Goetz. Of course, Mike may have thought about that, too. It's probably why he thought this would be a safe place to hide whatever evidence he has against Rojas. It's why he probably sent me here."

The boat rocked with a wake rippling from a water-skier and a boat maneuvering off in the distance.

Laurel fingered the throttle, thinking. “But something doesn't add up, Cole. If your Mr. Rojas is truly scared we'll reveal some illegal thing he's up to, certainly he'd have his people find a way to do away with us without anyone finding out."

“Maybe he wants us only toyed with long enough so that he can figure out a way to meet me face to face. Mano y mano."

“He's the bullfighter, and you're the poor animal.” Her teeth chattered.

“Don't worry,” he replied, his gaze scouring the shoreline cabins and woods. “I might be the bull in the ring that he wants to face, but remember, bulls have sharp horns. We need to work with the sheriff to make sure we lay a quiet little plan to snare our bullfighter."

“Then we have to make sure we have an army planted in the woods, waiting for him."

“John's working on it with the FBI."

Somehow, that news didn't allay her fears. “Let's talk to my friend David Huber. He's back from Madison, and attorneys have connections in high places. Maybe he could find out more about Senator Goetz for us through some Supreme Court judge."

Cole wiggled an eyebrow.

“I like that idea,” he said, surprising her. He wound in his fishing line. “There's still a missing minnow cage in all this."

“One big enough to hold a person."

“Don't think about it."

She shivered anyway.

* * * *

BECAUSE OF THE investigation, the sheriff couldn't meet privately with them until Monday afternoon. After an agonizing weekend with the both of them pacing her cabin, Laurel sat with Cole in the sheriff's office, her heart pumping full and fast, her thoughts oddly on Tyler somewhere off in Florida. Would he have a father when this was all through?

“Deputize us,” Laurel said to the sheriff, “and we'll do a house to house search."

She and Cole had agreed expediency was the only way to end this and get their lives back, and those of the people of Dresden.

John glared at them, his face puffy red from little sleep lately. “I'm in hot enough water as it is keeping that lady's body here, against the vile threats of her family in Texas. And the mortician did not appreciate the hint of scandal invading his quiet place of business. And Buzz has all his buddies calling me for exclusive interviews he promised them. Now you want me to let you two knock on doors up and down Spirit Lake? Asking people if they've seen a shady character dragging a dead woman around?"

Laurel winced. “Just call the FBI then and send reinforcements."

“You've already got me faxing the FBI every time I turn around. I've also faked stories, duped our editor, and I've got Wiley living in my house to keep his mouth shut."

Cole griped, “It's that last one that's really gotcha mad."

Laurel caught the glint in Cole's eyes and marveled at it, despite the gravity of things. She offered, “I don't have much use for Wiley either, John, after what he did in my livingroom to fake that story, but it's done and there's no escaping what Wiley's set in motion. He's the ‘W’ file in David's office and there's no stopping his trying to recapture his Naval spying days."

John scowled. “I thought you blamed Cole for all this."

Blame. It pitched into her stomach like an icy snowball, tearing away her oxygen. She felt the questioning in Cole's dark eyes landing on her, but she stared straight at John, giving herself time to reach into her heart. Was there room in that proverbial house for blame right now?

When she could breathe again, she said, “Tyler needs a father. That's what's at stake here."

“And you two want to play police partners now?"

As a heated flush crawled up her neck, Cole's hand squeezed hers, sending electricity through her. Together, they were a storm of energy that could not be defeated. They had to be. She hoped.

Cole moved forward in his chair. “The article ran in the paper to lure Rojas, but nobody's heard from him. The body showed up the same day as the story. So Rojas probably didn't kill her. This guy in Madelyn's cottage probably did. It's the same guy I chased out of Laurel's house, I'm sure. Probably hired by Rojas. He's not real bright, just faster than me on foot. If we can flush him out, he might give us the information Mike was onto that caused his death."

The sheriff grimaced. “I'm sorry, but my hands are tied. Until we have something more solid to go on, I can't issue a search warrant for properties along Spirit Lake."

Laurel's blood sparked to a slow simmer. “My mother's involved now because of this guy renting her cottage. You have feelings for her, don't you? Don't you want to resolve this quickly, to protect her? To protect everyone in Dresden?"

Babbling something about blackmail, John set about getting them deputized and gearing them with search warrants on behalf of the sheriff's department.

* * * *

TWO DAYS LATER, on Wednesday, with the big July holiday looming only a few days away, Cole came down with a nasty case of the worries about Laurel.

Cole knew her sleep had been sacrificed. Watching her closely while he helped her check the rabbits and possum babies, she appeared wan, not her usual self around her animals.

He knew he was the root problem. Stress. Her mother had nearly fainted after learning Cole was Atlas. Laurel had spent long hours with her mother, talking over old issues. Then there was the prospect of them actually fighting off unknown stalkers. Being brave in front of the sheriff was one thing; acting brave in your own home was another. They had also spent several hours already visiting at least six cottages along the lake on the search warrant, until the rath of the last two renters forced Cole to call off the search for the day. He regretted the dull shock in Laurel's eyes as she seemed to be making enemies of her neighbors because of their activity. He refused to allow that.

After plunking the baby rabbit back in the nesting box and putting the formula dropper aside, he caught up with Laurel in three long strides that stretched his torn leg muscle mercilessly.

A haunted shadow flickered across her eyes.

Cupping her chin, the trembling there caused his heart to skip a beat. “You don't have to act strong for me,” he said. “Nobody's watching."

She planted a quick kiss against his skin, but even her lips proved weak, cool. “I'm fine. Thanks."

“Liar,” he said, and she squeaked when he scooped her up in his arms. “I'm tucking you under that quilt on the sofa while I finish the chores."

At that, her lips curled into a smile, and she gave in, wrapping her arms around his neck where they felt mighty fine to him. She whispered, “I'm also beginning to appreciate what a man could do for me around here."

Icy reality stormed his gut. “Then take my advice and find yourself a good one."

Sinking against him even more, she said, “Consider staying."

For an instant, but only that, he entertained the thought of staying on in Dresden. She curled like a baby rabbit against his chest, tugging at his heart. How could anyone abandon a wounded, wild thing? He was beginning to understand why Laurel stayed here. To be needed by a helpless animal was primal, not to be denied.

His mind explored what he could do for Laurel if he stayed. Build the new wildlife clinic. Set up his own marina in Mike's name and finally flex his boating skills beyond racing. He'd keep her boats and Jim Swenson's running smoothly for all those wildlife and lakewater inspections they needed to do.

Maybe with his income, Laurel wouldn't have to worry about scrounging for money all the time. He'd also set up more water sports for the area's kids who adored her. Tyler could help. They could relieve Laurel of the tedium of being tied to this place. She could travel, give more of those talks in schools that she liked to do so much, find more sponsors for it, maybe even bug the governor more about grants. Hell, maybe she'd even run for office herself, what with him and Tyler taking care of the homefront. And she'd make a good politician. People liked her.

All a pipe dream, he realized. For him anyway.

After tucking Laurel in and stoking the fireplace into red flames to warm her, Cole planted a kiss on her pale forehead and escaped back to the shed.

Somewhere between feeding Owlsy and petting Rusty—Laurel's two favorites—the idyllic images blossomed again. They ebbed forth first in sepia tones, then grew brighter, with voices of laughter, with sunshiny days and Laurel in the meadow. Children played around them, their children.

It struck like an arrow. Their children.

He wanted more children.

Maybe he was just missing his son Tyler too much, missing being part of a family. His had disintegrated, what with his parents somewhere across the globe all the time, his sister-in-law in hiding and Tyler a teenager already, about to take wing. Cole had flung everyone far and wide.

But he had the power to pull them back together again! Didn't he? The thought of it—the challenge—scared him to his marrow.

Snatching up a baby rabbit from the nesting box, Cole held it tight against his cheek. It nuzzled against one ear and into his hair. It was so soft, alive, needy and wondrous—like Laurel. Just as he cared about this baby against his cheekbone, Cole was afraid for Laurel. The feeling clawed at his insides, shredding his good sense even. He had to do something for Laurel that meant something, that would last and please her. Sure, he could make something of his no-nothing life, but that wasn't personal enough.

Holding the baby rabbit out in front of him, Cole smiled on the little animal's wiggling, button nose and said, “She loves you, you know. I want you to grow up big and strong in our meadow, you hear? When she takes walks, or visits Jonathon, I want you hopping right alongside, watching out for her, okay?"

The rabbit's ears twitched, sending rivers of delight through Cole. “What do you think if I did this for Laurel?"