Fire Storm Page 2

  Booley’s heavy footsteps thudded through the door. He didn’t bump into her as he entered, which was a relief. Booley was a jerk. Dealing with his attitude was a challenge at the best of times. She didn’t need the distraction while working a case.

  “So you think Jack Morgan killed him?” Dana hadn’t met Jack and didn’t want to. It was better for her peace of mind if she stayed away from the Morgans. It helped their ranch was on the other side of Molly’s Mountain, away from Hopefalls and in Elkhead County.

  Booley stood over Ben. “It’s doubtful. Jack’s suffering from Alzheimer’s. He’s in a care home in Granite City, but he has a son, Timothy.”

  “Tim Morgan? The same Tim Morgan who killed Aunt Alice?” She backed through the door but stopped before she stumbled down the steps.

  Booley nodded.

  An invisible vice tightened around Dana’s chest. Tim Morgan had devastated her family when he’d caused the car accident that had taken Aunt Alice’s life. Unable to deal with his sister’s death, her father had moved the family to Spokane, a place where she, at thirteen, had been an outsider. It was the beginning of a dark time for her, one that had lasted until she’d joined the Spokane police force in her twentieth year.

  Dana straightened her shoulders. “I need you to leave the scene now.”

  “Sounds like you mean business.” Booley smiled, revealing yellow nicotine-stained teeth.

  “Yes, sir.” She took one last look at the body. Although four wounds punctured the chest, there was very little blood. Damn. No blood meant Ben was already dead when he was shot. No, she couldn’t draw any conclusions. All she could do was wait for the medical examiner’s report and go from there.

  She marched to her car, opened the trunk, and took out some crime scene tape. She would seal off the scene and preserve any remaining evidence. She wouldn’t allow anyone to pass except the crime scene technicians and the Granite City-Elkhead County police. This was their chance to get Timothy Morgan. Nineteen years ago, he’d gotten away with killing Aunt Alice.

  He wouldn’t get away this time.

  Chapter Three

  Tim Morgan rode his ATV across the wild, overgrown fields of Wind Valley Ranch, heading for the forested wilderness of Molly’s Mountain. It was late morning. The sun had shifted to the south so it wasn’t in his eyes. Ben North, his neighbor, had called him yesterday morning and left a voicemail demanding to see him urgently. Ben had probably heard about his plans to sell Wind Valley and wanted him to change his mind.

  If that was the case, he understood. This land was part of him, part of his past, but it would never be his. He needed to sell the ranch. There was no other choice. It hadn’t been an easy decision, but he could no longer delay the inevitable. He’d sold off the livestock and equipment when his father, Jack, had first become ill. That money was gone.

  Alzheimer’s had stolen his father’s mind to the point where he didn’t recognize his own son. Tim had placed him in Shady Pines Care Facility, which was expensive but worth every penny. It comforted him to know his dad was getting the best care possible.

  The mountain loomed ahead of him, dark and forbidding, a stone sentinel that guarded the valley. The wide basin that formed Wind Valley Ranch lay in the middle with the peaks of Wind Ridge behind him. The Cabinet Mountain Wilderness lay in the distance to the west. There were no vehicles allowed in the remote area unlike in Wind Ridge, where trails crisscrossed the forest, linking holiday cabins to the Hopefalls Highway.

  A cow moose trotted across the open field on his right, and he stopped, enjoying the view of the long-legged creature as it loped through the field. In another place and time, he might have taken a shot. But he didn’t hunt anymore. It was too much like being a soldier, and he’d worked long and hard to leave death behind. He liked to think he would never kill again, but he couldn’t discount the possibility. Life had a way of kicking him in the teeth when he least expected it.

  When he’d left the Rangers, he’d taken all the psychiatric help the VA could provide. He wasn’t a psychopath. He still had empathy and cared for the people in his life, but killing had become easy, and some changes just couldn’t be undone. In combat, he’d been able to separate his emotions from his actions. He took comfort in the fact that he’d only ever fought in a sanctioned conflict. He didn’t have any desire to end a life, nor was he filled with remorse for the lives he’d taken. He’d done his duty and made his peace with it.

  With the moose disappearing into the distance, he turned the throttle and continued onto Molly’s Mountain. Normally, in early spring, the ground would be saturated and muddy from snow melt, but this year it was just a little damp. Winter had been unusually dry and mild with just one blizzard.

  Evading pine trees, he reached Molly’s Creek, the official boundary that separated Wind Valley Ranch from Molly’s Mountain, and shut off his off-road vehicle. The waters of the stream cut deep into the earth. There was no way his ATV could negotiate the rivulet without getting stuck.

  He slung his backpack over his shoulder and then clipped a can of bear spray to the strap. He waded through the ice-cold creek, ignoring the discomfort of having wet feet. He planned to jog through the forest and up the mountain to Ben’s cabin. Running had always been his favorite form of exercise. He wasn’t in top physical condition, not like when he’d been a Ranger. Nowadays, he was lucky if he managed one run a day, and even that got cut short if he had a particularly busy schedule.

  His job as a salesman, representing Tillman’s Organic Feed, relied on his ability to reach out to new and existing customers. He’d created his own position and introduced Tillman’s products to stores and feed supply outlets for a percentage. The work suited him. When he’d first left the US Army 75th Ranger Regiment, he’d struggled with finding his own identity. It had taken a lot of therapy for him to understand and accept that he was happier when he spent time with people. He was, at heart, a social animal. He might have massive debts and no chance of having a permanent home, but every day he went out and talked to people about their business, their families, and their hopes for the future. He never tried to make a sale, he made friends, and that was the key to his success. His customers had become his community. But deep inside he wished for more. He wanted a wife and children, a real home.

  Tim halted at the sound of someone crashing through the woods. He stood still, listening. Ben had a lot going on. Activists were camped at the entrance to his property night and day. A head of blue hair appeared near the skinny trunk of a lodgepole pine. Tim stayed still, watching. The boy, who was probably fifteen or sixteen, marched along, staring at the ground. He wore ear buds, the faint sound of a bass rhythm a startling contrast to the birdcalls and breeze that echoed through the forest.

  A roar sounded. Tim froze. Two hundred yards behind the kid was a grizzly bear. She stood ten feet tall. Behind her were two small cubs. “Damn, shit, fuck.” There was nothing more dangerous than a momma grizzly with cubs.

  Unaware of the danger, the teen with blue hair bobbed his head to the music. A small part of Tim wanted to back away and leave the kid to his fate, but he wouldn’t. He couldn’t imagine a worse way to die than being eaten alive.

  Don’t panic. Think it through. He unclipped the can of bear spray, making note of the wind direction. A slight breeze blew directly in his face. That wasn’t good. If he had to discharge the spray there would be blowback. He strode toward the kid, resisting the impulse to run and scream a warning. The bear hadn’t charged, and he didn’t want to do anything to provoke her. Maybe the roar had been a signal, telling them to back off. That was good. They would leave the area, and she could go back to caring for her offspring.

  The teen removed his headphones as Tim approached. “Hey.”

  He didn’t reply. He kept his focus on the grizzly. His pulse pounded in his ears.

  The teen followed his line of vision. “Fuck.” Blood drained from his young face and his lips trembled.

  Tim snagged his arm and pushed the
boy behind him. “About three hundred yards downhill is an ATV.” With his spare hand, he fumbled in his pocket and withdrew a set of keys. He thrust them at the kid. We are going to walk—not run—to the vehicle. I’ll cover us while you start her up. We’ll move as one unit. If we stick together, our shape will seem larger and she won’t charge. Understand?”

  The kid snatched the keys from Tim’s hand and stepped back out of his line of sight.

  He eased away from the bear, careful not to make a sound. Then glanced behind him in time to see the kid racing downhill. Shit.

  The bear charged. Tim held his ground. If he shot the spray too soon, it would disperse before the bear reached him. The smell of rotting flesh mixed with garbage stung his nostrils as the bear neared. He discharged a one-second burst, aiming at the ground in front of her. She didn’t stop. He held his breath and aimed at her face. He gave a six-second blast. It shot twenty feet through the air. It hit the bear with a hot, burning cloud, billowing out, creating a chemical haze. Droplets blown back by the breeze hit his cheeks. He didn’t wait to see if she slowed or veered away. He could taste the spray in his mouth, feel it burning his eyes and lungs. He turned and sprinted downhill. There was a chance she would ignore her pain and decide he was a good meal to feed her cubs. He was a fast runner, but there was no way he could outrun her. Any minute he expected to feel a clawed paw swipe across his back and break his spine.

  He raced down the mountain and splashed across the creek, praying the kid hadn’t stolen his ATV.

  The boy was in the driver’s seat trying to start the engine.

  “Get out of the way,” he shouted.

  The kid scrambled to the back seat. Tim turned the throttle. The ATV roared to life. He accelerated, bumping over the uneven ground toward the safety of his childhood home.

  Chapter Four

  Tim forced himself to blink as he parked the ATV in front of the house. He needed to produce enough tears to wash the remnants of the bear spray from his eyes. It had been a tough drive back. The blowback had caused his face and hand to itch and burn.

  He crashed through the kitchen door, turned the taps on at the kitchen sink, running the water until it was warm. Then he poured some dish detergent into his hands and scrubbed his face. Once he had washed off any residual chemicals, he ran the cold water, and contorting his body, bent over the sink and tilted his face up to flush his eyes. He really needed a shower, but that would have to wait until he’d dealt with the kid. After about two minutes, he turned off the tap. He straightened and faced the blue-haired teen who stood at the kitchen door, looking as if he was ready to bolt.

  “I’m Tim Morgan. What’s your name?” Tim growled.

  “Logan—Logan Hayden.” He fidgeted with the bottom seam of his shirt.

  Tim’s face still burned so he grabbed a large mixing bowl from a cupboard and a jug of milk from the fridge. Thank God, he’d purchased groceries last night. He poured the milk into the bowl. “Logan Hayden, you win the award for being an absolute bastard. I told you to stay with me. The minute you ran, she charged. If we’d backed up carefully and stuck together, we might have seemed bigger, more of a threat, and she might not have attacked. But no, you had to take off.”

  The kid’s face reddened, and he stared at the ground. “Sorry.”

  Tim plunged his face into the bowl. The intense burning faded. He held his head in the milk as long as he could and then came up for air. Logan looked ashamed and scared. There was nothing wrong with being scared, especially when it came to bears.

  Tim’s lips, nose, and eyes still stung so he dunked his head in the bowl again. At fifteen, he’d been an arrogant asshole until life had kicked him in the nuts and taught him about humility.

  He pointed to a tea towel that lay on the counter by the sink. “Pass me that.”

  “I’m really sorry.” Logan crossed the kitchen and gave him the cloth.

  “Let’s forget about it. When I was your age, I made far worst mistakes than running from a bear.”

  He backed up to the door.

  Tim patted milk droplets from his face. “Are you with the protesters camped at Ben’s gate?”

  “No.” He crossed his arms over his chest. The abruptness of his answer, along with his posture, suggested he was being defensive. But Tim knew false bravado when he saw it, especially when it came from a teenage boy.

  “How did you get out here?”

  He shrugged. “I walked.”

  “From where?” Wind Valley was remote.

  “Hopefalls.”

  It would’ve taken him all morning to walk from town. And he didn’t have any supplies. “Did you drop your pack?”

  “No.”

  Tim clamped his mouth shut to avoid lecturing the kid. But the fact that Logan had walked all the way out here without water, food, or any way to protect himself was beyond stupid.

  “You must be thirsty. Grab a glass from the cupboard above the sink and help yourself to water.” He dipped the edge of the towel into the bowl of milk and dabbed his still burning face.

  Logan crossed the room, poured himself a glass of water, and downed it in one swallow.

  “Did you say your last name was Hayden? Do you live on Maple Street?” He couldn’t be one of those Haydens.

  Logan finished drinking his second glass and then nodded.

  Tim threw the towel on the table. “Oh, shit.” He was a member of Alice Hayden’s family. This was not going to be good. He thought they had left the area. His dad had said they’d moved away.

  He’d avoided Hopefalls for years. It wasn’t hard. Yes, he had to drive through town to reach Wind Valley, but he never stopped. He never got gas, shopped in the hardware store, bought groceries, or ate at the diner. The only person he kept in touch with was Victoria Anderson, his second-grade teacher who was also a family friend.

  “It’s Friday. Why aren’t you in school?” Tim’s job allowed him a certain latitude when it came to his schedule. He’d shuffled his customers around so he could take the day off and meet Ben. Damn it, he was going to miss his meeting with North. Plus, there were protesters camped at Ben’s gate that needed to know about a momma grizzly in the area.

  “I skipped school. I’m not learning nothing anyway.”

  “You’re not learning anything.” He thought about giving the kid a mouthful, but instead plunged his red-hot face into the milk. Logan wasn’t his responsibility, and Tim had enough on his plate without dealing with a fifteen-year-old kid who was skipping school.

  After a minute, he came up for air. “Do you have a license?” There was an old truck in the barn. Maybe Logan could drive himself back to town.

  “I’m getting my learner’s permit next week. You’re that Tim Morgan, aren’t you?”

  He didn’t answer. He could hear the accusation in the kid’s voice. He would’ve liked to tell him to walk back to town, but couldn’t, not with a bear in the area.

  “I’ll give you a ride. Are your parents home?”

  “There’s just Mom. She’s a cop. She’s at work now.”

  That was fucking great. He would give everything he owned if it meant he never had to walk into the Hopefalls police station again, but he had no choice. He cursed as he turned on the cold tap and washed the milk residue off his face. He would drop off Logan and report the bear.

  At fifteen, Tim had run away rather than face his problems. He wasn’t a kid anymore, and he wouldn’t run away. Besides, he hadn’t done anything wrong.

  Chapter Five

  Detective Ramirez from the Granite City-Elkhead County Police Department sat on the corner of Dana’s desk. She ignored him as she tapped at her computer keyboard, completing her report. Once it was done, she would go on patrol, grab a sandwich for lunch, and stay occupied and out of the way. It had been a long morning and the way things looked it would be an even longer afternoon.

  It was hard to step back and not interfere with the investigation, but that was exactly what she had to do.

  I
t was good that the Granite City-Elkhead County Police Department had taken over the case. They were larger with more amenities at their disposal. It also meant Booley, the mayor, and his wife couldn’t interfere with the investigation any more than they had already.

  The Hopefalls Police Department was small, consisting of just four members, Dana, Xavier Robinson, who was also a patrolman, Shelly, the civilian clerk, and Chief Levi Booley.

  Ramirez snagged a cookie from a plate on the desk. “These are good. Did you bake them?”

  Dana shook her head and continued to type. “No, Shelly did.”

  Shelly looked up from her stack of filing, glaring at Ramirez. “Dana doesn’t cook.” Shelly was five feet tall, middle-aged, with a rounded figure. She was the backbone of the station, doing everything from taking calls to record keeping and clerical duties. She ruled her domain with a combination of motherly love and draconian fear.

  Dana was grateful to have another woman in the male-oriented environment, even if she could be a little territorial and judgmental. At this moment, Dana wasn’t sure if Shelly’s anger was directed at the detective or at Dana’s cooking skills, so she concentrated on her work. She could ignore Shelly’s mood as long as the older woman kept her supplied with baked cookies and muffins.

  The station house was on the main road through town, situated in a newer building with white vinyl siding that matched the town hall next door. The inner walls and front desk were white, which was probably intended to make the cramped interior seem larger, but the effect was that of a cross between a doctor’s office and a prison.

  All the furniture was cheap, but sturdy enough to do the job, including the desk she shared with Xavier, which was metal with a fake wood top. Two cells stood at the rear of the station. The lack of space meant there wasn’t enough room to partition them off, so they were clearly visible from the front desk, which for some reason made her uneasy.