Gone Too Deep (2 page)

Hearing a lecture approaching, Ellie ended the call.

* * *

That night, she lay in bed and ran the conversation with her father through her mind, over and over. When she'd asked him where he was, he'd said “Gray Goose's house.” What did that mean? Was it just nonsensical rambling, and she was being an idiot for taking it literally?

He'd also mentioned “Simpson,” telling her not to come there. That sounded more logical than
Gray Goose
. She reached for her phone and pulled up the Web browser. After entering Simpson, she hesitated, then typed in “Colorado.”

When the results appeared, she saw that Simpson, Colorado, was a tiny mountain town in Field County. Her heart jumped in excitement and nervousness as she stared at the small screen. There it was, the starting point for finding her father—the place that would either be the scene of a heartwarming, father-daughter reunion…or a grim tragedy.

* * *

“You're going to do
what
?” Chelsea stared at Ellie, her mouth open. Even with her current shocked expression, Ellie's redheaded boss was beautiful—tall, slender, and perfectly polished.

“I'm going to Colorado to find my dad.” Ellie focused on keeping the box-cutter blade straight, slicing a perfectly even line across the packing tape. “Since I'm off tomorrow and Tuesday, I shouldn't have to take any vacation time.”

“But…” Chelsea's mouth closed with a click of teeth. “Isn't your dad, well, crazy?” She hissed the last word in a loud whisper, even though no one else was in the store with them.

“That's why I need to get him,” Ellie explained, pushing back the instinctive urge to defend her father. “He's too…vulnerable to be wandering around in the middle of nowhere. I'm going to bring him back here and hopefully talk him into staying at a mental health facility in Chicago until he's back on his meds and stabilized.” Saying it out loud made Ellie realize how many “ifs” were in her plan—if she found him, if she could convince him to return with her, if he'd be willing to get treatment… It was a definite long shot, this plan of hers.

“Wow.” Chelsea leaned against the jewelry display case as Ellie pulled out a stack of cashmere scarves. “That's intense. I call my dad crazy, but that's just when he wears two different-colored socks, not when he runs around in the mountains, thinking the aliens want to suck out his brain or something.” Reaching over to the stack of scarves, Chelsea stroked the top one. “These are gorge.”

“Yes.” Although her eyes were on the newly arrived merchandise, her thoughts were still on the town of Simpson.

“Hey!” Chelsea's hand left the scarf to slap Ellie on the shoulder. “You never told me how your date with Dylan went! Spill, chicklet! How was it?”

“Uh…”
Horribly boring.
“Short. My dad called early into it, so we barely got past introductions.”

“Well, short or not, he liked you.”

Ellie gave Chelsea a confused look. “How do you know?”

“He texted me when you were in the bathroom or something.” Chelsea pulled her cell out of her pocket and tapped at the screen. “Here.” She held up the phone so Ellie could read the text.

UR frnd is HOT. Lks like chick usd 2 B on Vamp Dairies.

Her nose wrinkled involuntarily.

“What?” Chelsea demanded, turning the phone so she could read the text. “It's sweet. He thinks you look like Nina Dobrev.”

“He used text-speak. And he spelled ‘Diaries' wrong—unless there's a new show about bloodsucking cows that I haven't seen yet. And I look nothing like Nina Dobrev.”

“Don't be such a snob.” After tucking her phone back in her pocket, Chelsea put her hands on her hips. “Dylan's awesome, has a good job
and
a great body. If I hadn't stuck him in the friend zone, like, a year ago, I'd so be all over that. And you have Nina Dobrev's hair.”

“It's just…” Ellie tried to smooth out her scrunched face. “He talks about his triathlon training a
lot
.”

“So? That's what he's interested in.”

Chelsea's tone had sharpened, and Ellie suppressed a wince. She wasn't handling the conversation well. “I know.” She tried to make her voice placating. “He seems like a great guy. I was just distracted by that call from my dad.”

After a long look, Chelsea's glare softened slightly. “That was probably it. Because Dylan's amazing. If you were focused on him, you'd see that.”

“Sure.” Normally, Chelsea was a fun boss and roommate, but she had definite opinions and got a little contrary if she didn't get her way. Occasionally, she required careful handling. Today, with the whole Baxter situation hanging over her head, Ellie was fumbling. A subject change was in order. “You're right about these scarves—they're beautiful. How much do you want to charge for them?”

Chelsea switched topics willingly enough, but Ellie couldn't keep her mind from wandering to her upcoming rescue mission. She'd mapped the route from her condo to Simpson, and it was just over a thousand miles. If she drove, it would take sixteen hours—without breaks. She definitely needed breaks. As much as she hated to spend some of her savings on a plane ticket and rental car, driving all that way just seemed crazy. Besides, didn't everyone in Colorado need to drive Jeeps and Hummers to navigate the mountain roads? Her beloved, middle-aged Prius probably wouldn't cut it.

“El!” Chelsea's sharp tone cut through her tumbling thoughts. “Are you listening?”

“Of course I'm listening, and you're absolutely right, Chels,” Ellie soothed with the ease of long practice, her mind still running over travel plans.

Chelsea's irritated frown smoothed into a smile. “So you think that's a good idea?”

“It's brilliant.” Ellie had no idea what the other woman was proposing, and honestly, she didn't really care. Her father was lost, and Ellie was going to find him—no matter what it took.

* * *

Squinting against the glare of the sun reflecting off snow, Ellie fumbled for her sunglasses. In Denver, the tulips and daffodils had poked their heads out of the ground already, and the day's temperature was supposed to hit seventy degrees. Who knew the mountains still had snow?

Then again, the peaks were white, which could've been a clue. Plus, her mom had said the cabin wasn't accessible by car until June. Ellie slowed her rental car as she approached a curve at the base of the pass where a flashing sign warned of possible ice on the road. It felt as if she'd reversed time two months during the three-hour drive from Denver. Maybe she should've splurged and rented an SUV at the Denver Airport rather than the more economical compact.

She sped up again as the road straightened. Although she'd been tempted to head to Simpson as soon as her shift at the boutique had ended the evening before, Ellie had gritted her teeth and bought a plane ticket—at a price that made her wince—for a flight leaving early the following morning. After being on the road for close to three hours, she was desperate to stop. It was already past noon, though, and she had only another day and a half to find her father and return them both to Chicago. Besides, there wasn't anywhere to stop. The high plains stretched in waves of white in all directions, the barren landscape unbroken until it bumped up against the surrounding mountains. Ellie carefully kept her gaze on the road so the emptiness, the feeling that she was the only person alive in this achingly lonely place, wouldn't reduce her to a useless, terrified heap.

Steering around another looping turn, she saw signs of civilization just as her GPS announced that she'd arrived at her destination. She slowed as she started passing structures—a feed store, a gas station, a ratty-looking motel—and then she abruptly turned the rental into the parking lot of a small building. A large sign above it introduced it as The Coffee Spot.

Her body craved a shot of caffeine almost as much as it desired a restroom, and this place would most likely offer both. She parked the car between two pickup trucks. As she got out of her rental, she eyed the vehicles that bracketed her. They loomed over her, making her car look miniature.

The air was thin and cold, despite the sun. Shivering, she wrapped the open sides of her cardigan around her. The single-button style was cute, but she would have appreciated several more buttons at the moment.

She closed and locked her car, then took a step toward the shop. Without warning, her heeled ankle booties slid out from under her, flying up in the air and sending her crashing onto her butt. The blow jarred her tailbone painfully, and she took a moment to shake off the shock of the fall before taking inventory. Except for her throbbing coccyx, all her other body parts seemed to be unharmed. She shifted to her hands and knees on the slick, packed snow.

An enormous hand appeared in front of her face. Startled, she glanced up at the person connected to the offered hand, first taking in his booted feet and working her way up his legs and torso before finally landing on his bearded face. He wasn't a man; he was a mountain.

The mountain was frowning, and Ellie realized she was rudely staring at her would-be helper. “Thank you,” she rushed out, grabbing his gloved hand. As her fingers curled around his, she took in how small her hand looked in comparison to his oversized mitt. It reminded her of how her car appeared next to the pickups.

He pulled, easily lifting her to a standing position, and she scrambled to get her feet underneath her. The icy footing was unforgiving, and her free arm swung wildly until she latched on to the stranger's other hand. When she finally got her balance, she still clung to him, not wanting to let go of her anchor and start flailing again.

After several seconds passed, though, it started to feel a little awkward. “Sorry,” she said, reluctantly loosening her grip. “And thank you. I'd be flat on my back again if it weren't for your help.”

He didn't release her now-limp hands. Ellie looked from his frowning face to her captured fingers and back again.

“Uh…I think I'm okay now. You can probably let me go.”

Apparently, the mountain didn't agree. Still gripping her hands, he dropped his frowning gaze to her booties.

“I know.” She grimaced, interpreting his look as silent criticism of her footwear. “These were the closest thing I had to winter boots, though.”

His hands finally dropped hers, and Ellie pasted on a polite smile, ready to give the giant a final thank-you and very slowly shuffle her way to the coffee shop door. Before she could open her mouth, though, his hands latched around her waist, and he lifted her as if she were a doll.

Her thank-you turned into an indrawn shriek. “What are you…? Put me down!”

Ignoring her order, he took several sure-footed strides toward the entrance of the shop and set her on the mat in front of the door. Then, without a word, he turned and walked to one of the trucks.

Openmouthed, Ellie watched as he got into the driver's seat and drove out of the lot, not even giving her another glance. When the truck disappeared, she blinked and turned toward the door. A small group of people was crowded around the glass door and window, staring at her. Startled, Ellie took a step back, and everyone inside hurried to turn away from her.

Ellie waited another few seconds as the people inside the shop pretended like they hadn't been watching the whole time she'd been carried to the door by a mountain.

“This is a weird town,” she muttered, and pulled open the door.

The blond barista looked a little flushed. Ellie wasn't sure if that was from sprinting from her spot at the window to her current position behind the counter, or if it was embarrassment at being caught watching Ellie's fall and subsequent mountain transport.

“Hi.” The barista's smile was friendly and completely guilt-free. “What can I get you?”

“A large latte, please,” Ellie requested. She could feel the interest of the other patrons pressing in on her, and her cheeks reddened as she imagined how silly she must have looked—first sprawled across the parking lot and then hanging from the bearded man's hands with her booties dangling a foot off the ground. “Do you have a restroom?”

The barista pointed toward the bathroom door. “Right there.”

With a tight smile, Ellie hurried toward it, locking herself into the tiny room with a relieved sigh. She was glad to escape the amused and curious eyes. Once she was done, she washed her hands for a long time, until she couldn't continue to delay returning to the main part of the shop. If she hid in the restroom any longer, someone was sure to come in and check on her, and that was just asking for further humiliation.

Her latte was waiting on the counter for her when she finally emerged. Ignoring the prickle on the back of her neck, telling her that everyone in the shop had refocused their gazes on her, she stood stiffly at the counter as the barista rang her up.

“So,” the blond said quietly, leaning in toward Ellie, “did George actually talk to you? Because I've never gotten more than a grunt out of him.”

“George?” Ellie repeated in confusion, handing the woman a twenty.

“George Holloway,” the barista said, as if that clarified anything. “The man who gave you a literal lift to the door.”

“Oh.” Her cheeks warmed again as she accepted her change. “No. He didn't say anything, just glared at my booties like he was mad at them.”

The blond woman laughed, leaning forward so she could see over the counter. Ellie took a big step back so the barista could see the ankle boots under discussion. “I don't know how he could be mad at them,” she said once she'd gotten a good look. “Those are adorable. Obviously, George is not a fashionista.”

Ellie had been taking a sip of her latte when she started to laugh, and she pressed the fingers of her free hand to her mouth so she didn't spew coffee everywhere. “Obviously,” she echoed once she'd safely swallowed.

“I'm Lou Sparks,” the barista said. “Louise, really, but please don't call me that. I always feel like I'm in trouble when I hear my full name.”

“Ellie Price. And I'm the same way about my name. It's actually Eleanor, but no one calls me that.” Except for her estranged father. Her mouth turned down at the memory of his panicked call.

“Nice to meet you.” Lou held out a hand, and Ellie shook it. “Sorry about watching you and George. Our entertainment is the do-it-yourself variety. Some towns have film festivals, but Simpson has gossip.”

“Oh.” As Ellie was still trying to figure out how to respond to that, Lou's gaze shifted over Ellie's shoulder.

“Good timing.” Reaching under the counter, Lou pulled out a large envelope. “George just dropped off his report on that missing-hikers call.”

“Thanks, Lou.” A male hand reached to accept the envelope, and Ellie shifted to the side, out of the stranger's way, turning as she did so. The man wasn't very tall, but he had a wrestler's build and a sharply defined face. After giving a Lou a smile of thanks, his gaze moved to Ellie, and his grin widened. “And who is this?” His eyes swept over her from face to feet, lingering just a little too long on her breasts. She fought the urge to cross her arms.

“This is Ellie.” Lou introduced her as if the women had been childhood friends rather than having just met. “Ellie, this is Joseph Acconcio. He heads up the Field County Search and Rescue.”

“Ellie.” He shook her hand and then held it, not letting go even when she tried to discreetly tug free. If anything, his grip tightened. “Where are you visiting from?”

She knew better than to ask how he knew she wasn't local. In a town that tiny, everyone had to know everyone else. Plus, a quick glance around the shop showed customers dressed for warmth rather than fashion. She saw more than one Elmer Fudd earflap hat. “Chicago.”

His eyes did another quick up and down of her body before returning to meet hers. All of her internal creep radars were blaring, and she futilely tried to extract her fingers again. “Well, enjoy your stay.” He squeezed her hand and then—
finally
—released it reluctantly. “Thanks for being the go-between, Lou.” Joseph held up the envelope. “Whenever I nag Holloway about turning in his incident reports, he acts like I asked for one of his kidneys.”

“No problem.” Lou waved off his thanks. “He never comes in here otherwise, and I like to see if I can get him to talk.”

“Any success?” Joseph asked with real interest.

“Nope. Not yet, but I'm determined.”

He laughed. “If anyone can do it, you can. I've heard him use actual words when he's been on a call, but just when he's had to, in order to, you know, prevent death or something.”

“That's good, at least.”

“Well, thanks again, Lou.” He turned to Ellie and gave her a smile that made her have to resist the urge to take another backward step away from him. “Nice to meet you, Ellie.”

“You too,” she lied.

“We'll have to get together while you're here.”

Before Ellie could politely decline, Lou snorted and said jokingly, “You're a little late to the Ellie ballgame, Joseph. George Holloway has already staked his claim on the new girl, and there's no way any woman is going to turn down Mr. Silent-but-Hot. I mean, a guy with all those muscles who never contradicts you? Who could resist?”

Although Joseph held on to his smile, it went brittle around the edges. “I've never been afraid of a little competition.”

With a final stiff wave, he left the coffee shop. Lou turned to Ellie with a grin.

“He liked you.”

Ellie shrugged uncomfortably. Even if Joseph hadn't set off all her internal alarms, she still wouldn't have been interested. She didn't have time for flirtations. “I'm actually here to see my dad. His name's Baxter Price. You don't happen to know him, do you?”

Lou's eyes went huge. “Baxter Price? Your dad is Baxter Price? Oh my gosh, he's on the whiteboard!”

“What?” The other woman's urgent tone made Ellie's heart pound against her ribs. “What does that mean? What whiteboard?”

“It's—” Breaking off, Lou glanced around at the crowded shop. No one was even pretending they weren't listening anymore. “Listen, I have to work until about seven thirty tonight, but would you want to grab some dinner and talk about this? Callum—the man who puts up with me—makes a mean Crock-Pot stew.”

“Um…I don't know.” It seemed odd to accept a dinner invitation from a woman she'd just met, but Ellie was dying to know what had caused Lou's reaction to her father's name. “My dad mentioned heading to a cabin, and I was hoping to go there this afternoon.”

“A cabin?” Lou tilted her head to the side. “Where?”

Making a face, Ellie lifted one shoulder in a half shrug. “I'm not sure. I was there when I was ten, but the directions have gotten kind of fuzzy over the years.”

“Do you know who owns it?” When Ellie nodded, Lou grabbed a paper napkin and a pen. “Easy-peasy, then. Just head to the County Assessor's Office, and you can get the coordinates.” Passing her the napkin after sketching what looked like a rough map on it, Lou leaned in close and lowered her voice. “Come back here when you're done. Hopefully the nosy bastards will have cleared out of this place by then so we can talk.”

* * *

Lou's rough map proved to be surprisingly accurate, and the women at the assessor's office were helpful and friendly. Ellie returned to The Coffee Spot less than an hour after she'd left it.

As Lou had predicted, the place was empty except for Lou and a stern-looking man in a baseball hat sitting on one of the counter stools. When Ellie spotted him, she hesitated just inside the door. The men in Simpson seemed to come in only one size—extra-large. That, plus their apparent aversion to smiling, made them a little intimidating. Ellie was more used to the guys she knew in Chicago, who seemed smaller and gentler and much less scary than these mountain men.

“Ellie!” Lou waved her toward the counter. “Awesome. This is Callum. I hope you don't mind, but I called him and told him Baxter Price's daughter was here. He has full access to the Whiteboard of Knowledge and Wild Theories, so you can talk freely in front of him.”

“Uh…” Ellie had taken a step forward, but Lou's last sentence made her stop again. “I don't know what that means.”

“You get used to it.” A corner of Callum's mouth tucked in like he was holding back a smile, and it softened his expression slightly.

Warily, Ellie approached the counter and slid onto a stool a few down from where Callum was sitting.

“We've been trying and trying to talk to Baxter,” Lou said, wiping down the counters. “He's proved to be very elusive, though. I don't think he trusts us.”

“He's…” It felt strange to be talking to two strangers about her father's issues, but it sounded like they'd had contact with him, so they were her best lead at the moment. “He doesn't trust anyone, really. He's mentally ill. I haven't ever talked to any of his doctors, since I was a teenager the last time he was on meds, but I'm pretty sure he's schizophrenic. He hears voices, thinks people are after him, and has a hard time keeping his thoughts straight. He called me two nights ago, not making much sense, talking about some guys wanting to kill him and needing to hide at my grandpa's cabin until it was safe.” She paused, belatedly considering Lou's last comment. “Why did you want to see him?”

Lou stopped wiping and twisted the dishcloth into a tight spiral. “That's a long and complicated story. Do you want to hear the whole thing?”

“Does it concern my father?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes.”

“Okay.” Blowing out a hard breath, Lou rinsed the tortured dishcloth in the sink. “In early March, a body was discovered in a nearby reservoir.” Callum cleared his throat mildly, and Lou gave him a look. “Fine.
I
discovered the body. We were doing dive-team training in Mission Reservoir, and I kicked him.”

Ellie blinked at her.

“By accident!” Lou huffed. “I'm not a corpse abuser or anything. But it did make me feel responsible for this poor, headless John Doe.”

“Headless?” Ellie asked faintly. That sounded familiar. Her father had mentioned someone's head being chopped off.

Lou winced, apparently misreading Ellie's startled reaction as general horror. “Yes. And handless. It made identification a little tricky.”

“Uh…okay.” Ellie's mind still spun as she tried to process this new information, wishing she hadn't dismissed most of what her dad had told her as senseless rambling. It sounded as if at least a small part of what he'd said had been based in reality.

“Since the sheriff's department wasn't making much headway identifying this guy, I took it upon myself to do some sleuthing. Callum agreed to be my sidekick.” He choked on his coffee. Ellie glanced at him in concern, but Lou ignored his coughs and sputters. “When we found out that our headless dead guy was diabetic and missing some toes, we called around to some amputee and diabetes support groups in the area. We didn't find our guy, but one of the group leaders did tell me that someone else was investigating, and that his name was Baxter.”

“My dad was looking into a murder?” That was unexpected. Ellie was so used to thinking that Baxter couldn't even manage his own life that the idea of him actively involving himself in someone else's was startling. She filed the information away so she could decide later whether that was encouraging or not.

“Apparently. He'd given the victim's name to the group leader, too. It was Willard. We found out later that our guy's full name was Willard Gray.”

Both Lou and Callum looked at Ellie expectantly, but she shook her head. “The name doesn't ring a bell, but I haven't had much contact with Baxter since I was ten and he…um, since I was ten.”

Although she looked slightly disappointed, Lou seemed to accept that. “We found out that Willard's friend, Baxter Price, had been living at Willard's house for a few weeks as he did his own investigating into his friend's disappearance. I guess they were army buddies?”

Again, Ellie turned away their expectant looks with a shrug. “Sorry, but Dad never talked about anyone named Willard. I knew my father was in the army, but it wasn't something he ever discussed with me.”

“We've tried to talk to Baxter, but he keeps dodging us.” Lou looked at her with hopeful eyes. “Do you think you could get him to meet with us? We want the same thing—to figure out who killed Willard Gray. It would be really helpful to combine information.”

With a doubtful frown, Ellie said, “I'm not sure how much help he'd be. On the phone the other night, he sounded really disconnected with reality. He might…” Her words trailed away as a part of their conversation rang in her head. “Wait…he said he was at Gray Goose's house. Do you think that's Willard's nickname?”

“That's likely,” Callum said, startling Ellie. He'd been so quiet, she'd focused on Lou, almost forgetting that he was there.

“Is he still there?” Her heart lifted with hope. That would be so much easier than trying to run Baxter down at an unfamiliar cabin in the middle of nowhere.

“Last I heard.” Lou gave Callum a questioning look, and he nodded. “Want me to draw another map?”