Against the Wild (26 page)

It changed to uncertainty when he saw Emily holding on to her hand.

 

 

The evening meal was stilted. Caleb was silent and brooding as he passed around the platter of roast beef, taking a smaller portion than usual. Dylan's mood seemed equally bad.

The sun was still bright when supper was over. Deciding to get some fresh air, Lane collected her gear and returned to the cemetery to work on the painting she had started that afternoon. She'd only been working half an hour when Dylan arrived, his mood still not improved.

“I don't want you up here this late in the day. The animals start moving around, foraging for food. I don't want a moose wondering down or maybe a bear.”

Her head came up. “A bear? You think a bear might come here?”

For an instant, his mouth edged up. “Lots of bears here. This is Alaska.”

“I know, but . . . but the lodge is just over there.” She pointed down the hill.

“Now that I think of it, I guess you need to learn the difference between a black bear and a brown bear. That way if you run into one, you'll know what to do.”

“I know what to do—run like hell and hope I get away.”

Dylan laughed. He went on to explain that a grizzly had a hump and a dish-shaped face. “If it's a griz, you freeze. If he charges, you get down on the trail and curl yourself into a ball, put your hands over the back of your neck.”

“And kiss your ass good-bye.”

He grinned, shook his head. “With a black bear you make yourself as big as you can. Be aggressive. Try to scare him away. Most of the time, it works.”

“Most of the time?”

Dylan's mouth edged up, but he made no more comment. His brilliant blue eyes had moved to the easel. “Wow, that's an amazing piece of work. When you said you could paint, you weren't kidding.”

She smiled. “You like it?”

“It's beautiful, Lane. You're a fabulous artist. I saw that talent in some of your other work, but this piece . . . I don't know. In some way it's disturbing.”

“It's the cemetery. This place has a soul.” She glanced around at the old wooden grave markers. “I can feel it.”

Dylan stared at the canvas. “I believe you. It shows in your painting.” Over the years, the old grave markers had settled deep into the earth. There was something so forlorn about them, it touched a place deep inside.

His gaze moved toward the horizon. “The light's beginning to fade. You ready to come in?”

She sighed, hating to stop. “I suppose.” Dylan helped her carry the easel and paints back to their place in the mudroom. But as the evening progressed and they went upstairs to get ready for bed, his dark mood returned.

They made love, but it was different this time. The hunger was there, sparking into a wildfire between them, but the emotional connection she always felt with him was overpowered by the physical act. Whatever time they had left wasn't enough.

Dylan had begun to distance himself.

Lane told herself she should do the same. But the hard truth was, it was already too late.

It was late in the night when the cry of an animal awakened her, the deep throaty howl of a wolf. She had never seen one except in a zoo, but there was no mistaking the sound that sent a faint tremor down her spine.

Dylan slept peacefully beside her. She knew how worried he was, knew he had been sleeping fitfully all week. He was quiet now and she didn't want to wake him. Slipping silently out of bed, she grabbed her robe off the chair, slid it on, and padded over to the window, pulled the curtains partly open.

She loved looking out at the endless vistas outlined in the moonlight, the peaks of the trees silhouetted in the distance, the amazing wash of stars, sparkling like jewels in the black night sky.

She stood there awhile, soaking up the beauty of a land that was unlike anyplace she had ever been before. The kind of place you never forgot, that stayed forever in some private place in your heart.

The wolf howled again, his call drifting away on the soft night breeze. She could hear the hoot of an owl in a distant pine tree.

Lane yawned, beginning to feel sleepy. She started to turn away from the window and return to bed when a faint movement caught her eye. Shadows were shifting in the distance—a lone figure, standing at the edge of the forest, blending in as if he were part of the night.

Her heartbeat quickened. She told herself it was one of the kids from Yeil. Kids loved to do the exact opposite of whatever they'd been told to do. The shadowy figure stepped away from the trunk of a tree. His form long and lean, he moved fluidly, effortlessly, with an almost ghostly grace.

She watched him fading into the darkness, blinked and he was gone. She could almost convince herself he had never really been there.

She turned toward the bed. Dylan was sleeping so soundly. And whoever had been out there was gone. Not even Dylan would be able to find him, at least not in the dark.

Lane shrugged out of her robe and slipped back into bed, eased closer to Dylan's warmth. She thought of the man at the edge of the forest. Nothing about him reminded her of Alex or Jared, the boys from Yeil.

Still, there was something about the way he moved. Something strangely familiar. She thought of the man they searched for, Dusty Withers. She didn't know anyone by that name.

But there
was
someone, a man named Kyle Whitaker. Dark hair. About Dylan's height, his body equally lean and fit.

She had dated him for a very brief time. A case of bad judgment, she'd told herself when she had ended their involvement at the end of the second week. She hadn't gone to bed with Kyle, though he had been amazingly good-looking.

A memory tugged at the edge of her mind. Had Kyle mentioned a friend named Dusty? She worked to bring the memory into focus, but it remained elusive.

A shiver went through her.

It was ridiculous. Even if there were similarities between Kyle Whitaker and their suspect, Kyle was in jail. A week after she'd last seen him, he'd been arrested for beating a man unconscious after a Lakers basketball game. He was serving a six-month sentence.

It wasn't him.

Couldn't be.

Kyle wouldn't even know she was in Alaska.

But as she tried to fall asleep, her mind kept circling back to the man in the forest. What was it about him that made her think of Kyle?

In the morning, she was going to tell Dylan what she had seen. She would also make a phone call to Haley. Haley was married to Dylan's cousin, Ty, who was a private investigator. He could make certain Kyle was still locked up in jail.

She wasn't about to mention anything about the man to Dylan. Not until she had information that pointed in Kyle's direction. Dylan had more than enough to worry about already.

The plan eased her mind. Still, it was more than an hour before she fell asleep.

 

 

Sitting at his desk in the office, Dylan looked up to see Lane walking into the room. Some of the accessories, lamps and shades, a few small tables, even some throw rugs, had arrived yesterday. One of the crew had brought them in from town, and though they wouldn't be placed until the rest of the furniture arrived, Lane had been busy making sure the boxes got into the right rooms.

He'd told himself he was glad she wasn't around.

“There you are,” she said as she walked into the office. “You missed breakfast. I've been looking for you all morning.”

He'd had some chores to do. But mostly, he'd been avoiding her. He needed to put some distance between them. He should have eased back long before now.

“I had some things to take care of outside. Winnie kept a plate warm for me. What's going on?”

She looked like she didn't want to tell him, like she needed to build up her courage.

“Whoever was watching us before? He was out there again last night.”

He came up out of his chair. “You saw him? Why didn't you wake me up?”

She nervously bit her lip. “It happened so fast and you were sleeping so deeply. One minute he was there, the next he was gone. I figured it was the boys from Yeil. Besides, there was no way you could have found him in the dark.”

He raked a hand through his hair. “Those f-ing kids again. They gave me their word. I'm not putting up with it. I'm calling Payuk. He'll rattle their chains but good.” He reached for the cell phone lying on top of his desk.

“Dylan, wait. Maybe it was someone else.”

“It wasn't someone else. Those kids were spying on us for weeks. They have no business being out there at night.” He punched the SEND button, got Jacob Payuk on the line, told him what had happened.

For several seconds, Payuk remained silent. “You are certain it was one of the boys from Yeil?”

“I don't know for sure. But they were here before. I don't want them out there again.”

“I will speak to them. But these are good boys. I do not believe they would give you their word and then break it.”

A thread of unease slid through him. “I need the truth, Jacob. Someone was out there. I'm just trying to keep my family safe.”

“I understand. I will find out.” Payuk signed off and Dylan hung up the phone.

“What . . . what did he say?”

“He says the boys wouldn't break their word.”

Lane wet her lips. She seemed so uncertain; the shot of lust he felt looking at that pretty mouth gave way to worry. “What is it, Lane? What aren't you telling me?”

“It's nothing. I'm sure when your cousin calls me back—”

“You called Ty? Why the hell would you be calling my cousin?”

“I called Haley. Ty was there when I phoned. I asked him to help me find out if . . . if—”

“If what, Lane?”

She sighed. “I knew someone back in L.A. Seeing that man in the woods last night . . . there was something about him that seemed familiar. The way he moved, maybe. Or the way he just sort of vanished into the night. I don't know why, but it made me think of . . . of . . . this guy named Kyle.”

Dylan felt the heat rising at the back of his neck. “Who the fuck is Kyle? Some old boyfriend?” He hated the rush of jealousy, fought to ignore it. “Spill it, Lane. I'm not playing twenty questions.”

She sank down in one of the office chairs. “Kyle Whitaker was never my boyfriend. I went out with him a few times over a couple of weeks.”

“You sleep with him?”

“No. After a few dates, I began to sense something about him was a little off. He couldn't stay focused, lost track of the conversation. He kept saying how perfectly we were matched. I didn't think we matched at all, so I broke it off. A week later, Kyle went to jail for assault. As far as I know he's still there.”

“But you want Ty to make sure he is.”

She nodded, looked miserable. “It can't be him, Dylan. He wouldn't even know I'm up here and even if he found out, he'd have no reason to come after me.”

“Except that he thinks you're his perfect match.” And for some unfathomable reason that annoyed him. When had he started thinking Lane belonged to him? Christ, she was only going to be there a few more weeks.

“Kyle's in jail,” she said firmly. “Ty's going to call and tell us that.”

He hoped like hell that was true, but when he looked over at Lane, he could see she wasn't completely sure.

A sudden thought occurred. “Wait a minute. You aren't thinking this guy could be our suspect?”

She glanced away. “We don't even know if it's Kyle.”

“What else do you know about him? Was he in the military?”

“I don't know.”

“What's he look like? Good-looking, I imagine, or you wouldn't have been interested in him in the first place.”

She just nodded.

“My height, right? Dark hair?”

She nodded again. “It's just a coincidence. I never even thought of it until last night.”

“But now that you have, we need to know.”

Her cell rang just then, and she started scrambling to pull it out of her pocket. Dylan resisted the urge to snatch it out of her hand.

“Hi,” she said. She flashed Dylan a glance, and as the conversation continued, the color drained from her face. “Thank you, Ty. I appreciate your help.”

Before she could disconnect, Dylan grabbed the phone. “He's out of jail, right?”

“Well, nice to talk to you, too, cuz. I'm doing great. Thanks for asking.”

“Cut the bullshit. He's out, right?”

“Got out three weeks ago. Good behavior.”

“Any prior arrests?”

“Nope. Clean until a fistfight after a basketball game. Fight got out of hand. Whitaker went to jail.” He chuckled. “Lane said someone was peeking in your windows. I guess she has an admirer.”

“I guess maybe she does. I also guess she didn't tell you that besides being a Peeping Tom, this guy might be a murderer.”

Dylan didn't miss the tension that crept into his cousin's voice. “You gonna need some help?”

“Thanks for the offer, but not at the moment. I do need a photo. We need to see if Whitaker is using the alias Dusty Withers.”

“I'll send his booking photo to your cell phone.”

“Thanks.”

“Don't hesitate to call if you need me. I owe you one, remember?”

A couple of months back, Dylan had helped Ty with a case he and Haley had been trying to solve. Dylan had managed to take a bullet for his efforts. “You're right, you do. I'll let you know if I need you.” Dylan hung up the phone.

“He . . . he can't be the man in the forest,” Lane said, her voice little more than a whisper.

“But there's a chance he is.” His phone chimed as the arrest photo came in. Dylan pulled up a picture of Kyle Whitaker in a prison jumpsuit. “He's got dark hair, but he doesn't look anything like me.” He hated the rush of relief he felt knowing Lane wasn't attracted to him because of some joker in L.A.

He held it up for her to see. “Orange just isn't his color.”

Her pretty lips faintly curved. Dylan thought of her in his bed the night before, her sweet cries as he'd moved inside her. Jesus, what was wrong with him?

“He's kind of a pretty boy,” Lane said. She cast him a teasing glance. “I prefer the ruggedly handsome type.”

Dylan leaned down and kissed her. “That's good to hear.” He looked at the picture. “How did you meet this guy?”

“He works in construction. He was on the crew doing a remodel down the block from Modern Design. I met him in a bar across the street. Sometimes I meet my girlfriends there for a drink after work.” Her smile slowly faded. “We still don't know if Kyle is Dusty Withers.”

Dylan's jaw tightened. “Not yet, but we're going to find out.”

Lane looked down at the picture and her eyes filled. “If Kyle's out there because of me, I've got to leave. I can't put all of you in danger.”

He caught her shoulders. “You aren't going anywhere. Not yet. It's possible this guy killed Holly. I'm not sending you back where he can get to you. We're going to catch him right here.”

When she started shaking her head, Dylan's hold tightened. “Listen to me, baby. This isn't your fault. Just because you went out with this lunatic a couple of times doesn't make you responsible for what he may or may not have done.”

For several long moments, those green eyes remained on his face. A shuddering breath whispered out. “Even if it's Kyle, he might not have killed Holly.”

“That's right. At the moment it's all speculation. We've got his picture now. We'll see if the bartender and the girl at the airport recognize Kyle as Dusty Withers.”

“If he's here, how did he find me?”

“Good question. We need to know more about him. Once we put it all together, we'll talk to the police, tell them what's going on.”

Just then, Caleb walked into the office. His black eyes zeroed in on Dylan's stony features, then traveled to the tears on Lane's cheeks. “While you're at it, maybe you'd better tell
me
what the hell is going on.”

 

 

Dylan spent the next few minutes filling Caleb in on the man Lane had seen outside the lodge last night.

“Could be it's one of the kids from Yeil,” Dylan said, “but Jacob doesn't think so. There's a chance it's a man named Kyle Whitaker that Lane knew in L.A.”

One of Caleb's black eyebrows went up. “That so?”

“Not in the biblical sense,” Dylan said darkly, bringing an amused smile to Caleb's lips.

Dylan ignored him. “The problem is Whitaker fits our suspect's description, so he could have been the guy who killed Holly.”

“Was he ever in the service?” Caleb asked.

“I don't remember him talking about it,” Lane said, “but I only went out with him a couple of times so I really don't know.”

“Any way we can find out?” Caleb asked. “The bartender mentioned it, right? And Withers used Fort Bragg as the address on his fake driver's license. Fort Bragg's an Army base.”