Lone Wolfe Protector (3 page)

Chapter Three

Maggie had been watching the caretaker, Jim, through the sheer white curtains of her little room for the last half an hour. He was tall and gangly, and wore a dirty brown coat over jeans that were a shade dirtier. He’d been chopping and stacking wood, and something about the fluid way he moved, like it took no effort at all to raise the ax and slam it down again, made Maggie uneasy.

Pulling out a wire bound notebook, she took a steadying breath and scratched his name at the top.
Jim,
she wrote in bold, black letters.
Caretaker. Last name?

She peeked back out the window, careful to stay behind the curtains. He stood below, ax poised in midair, his big feet planted wide. When he brought the blade down, splinters went flying and the sound of cracking wood reverberated through the still morning air.
Whack!

Maggie flinched. His shoulders were thick, powerful. Despite his gray hair and scruff, she didn’t think he was much older than fifty. Plenty of time to have a past.

After closing the notebook and stuffing it in her purse, Maggie stepped into her boots and pulled on her fleece jacket. She’d slept later than she’d wanted to, and was anxious to get outside. She’d explored a little yesterday, but had come back to the Inn when it started to rain. Discouraged, she’d sat up late, trying to decide what to do next. That’s when she’d thought of keeping a log. People she’d met in Wolfe Creek, and people she hadn’t yet. Names, dates, things that struck her as odd. All of it. Maybe she’d seen one too many episodes of
Murder, She Wrote,
but so be it. Whatever would lead to Aimee was exactly what she’d do.

She headed out the bedroom door, locked it behind her, and turned in a hurry to get outside.

“Whoa.”

She jumped. It was the guy from yesterday, the one from the stairs. The fast one. The good-looking one. He was standing right behind her, and she hadn’t heard a sound.

“In a rush?”

It took a second to recover. “Yes. No.” She smoothed the front of her jacket as if it were a cocktail dress, and forced herself to look up at him. Definitely still good-looking. But something was different this morning. He was rough around the edges where he hadn’t been yesterday. Dark smudges sat below his eyes and heavy stubble prickled his neck and jaw. His long hair hung next to his face, obscuring half of it in shadow.

“Which is it? Yes or no?”

“Yes. I’m in a hurry.”

“Shame.” He shook his head, never taking his black eyes off hers. “I was going to ask you to breakfast.”

“Thanks, but no.” The words tumbled out before she could help it. If she’d been thinking clearly, she would have accepted. There was no telling what this guy knew. He’d probably been around the block a few times. But there was something about him, something that made her want to shrink away. Maybe it was the way he looked. Maybe it was the way he smelled, like the forest itself, which she hated. Maybe it was both. But whatever it was, the thought of spending any length of time with him made her dizzy.

“Awfully quick to say no. You’re going to ruin my reputation as a ladies’ man.”

“I’m not here to date.” She walked around him. “Sorry about your reputation.”

She was halfway down the hall before he spoke again. Quietly, as if in afterthought.

“I know why you’re here.”

She stopped and turned at the sound of his voice.

“You do?”

She was speaking to his back, his gray-flannel shirt doing nothing to hide its graceful curve, its long, lean muscle. “Of course. Everyone knows why you’re here.” Slowly he turned, and the arrogant smile was gone. “Only problem is, I’m sure you’ll end up pointing your finger at someone innocent.”

Her mouth hung open. She didn’t know what she’d been expecting. But this wasn’t it.

“This is a small town. We’re small-town people. But that doesn’t mean we’re stupid. And it sure as hell doesn’t mean we’re killers.”

He took a step toward her, and she shrank back.

“And I’ll tell you another thing,” he continued in a silky voice. “There are some people who might take exception to you pointing that pretty little finger of yours. They might not take it well at all.”

Maggie stared at him, remembering Aimee, her sweet friend. And the fact that she’d probably never see her again. And just like that, her nerves vanished. In their place bubbled a white-hot anger.

“I don’t care how they take it. I don’t care how
you
take it. Something happened to her that night. She didn’t just vanish into thin air. Someone did something to her.”

They stood facing each other, silence settling eerily between them. The old hotel seemed to be listening. Or maybe its ghosts were listening. It felt like the place was full of them.

Whack!
Another chop of wood from outside, and the spell broke. The full, pale lips stretched into a slow grin, and the handsome face transformed again, cocky, teasing.

“Just be careful,” he said. “I’d hate to have anything happen to you before we can share that breakfast.”

Before she knew how to respond, he turned and disappeared down the hall. After a second, she caught the faint sound of a door closing. Then the even fainter sound of a lock clicking behind it.

It was the one memory that kept coming back. The one that pushed itself ahead of all the others, the one that plagued her dreams, as well as her every waking moment.

It was the last half hour she’d spent with Aimee. In the cheerful yellow car, with the heater blasting, and classic rock thumping through the old, cracked speakers. Credence was going on about a bad moon, and Aimee was sitting with her boots kicked off, her long legs crossed on the seat like a kid’s. Behind them, the night stretched beyond the car, into the forest and fog the consistency of cold pea soup.

They’d been laughing and talking. One of those long, emotional talks always so much better on a road trip, with bags of chips and candy bars between them. Aimee had said something that made Maggie turn, and that image was what stuck in her head. Aimee’s dark silhouette against the foggy window, her face suddenly drawn and void of laughter.

“I had a terrible dream last night, Mags,” she’d said.

“What kind of dream?”

She’d looked out the window and traced a small heart in the corner. “I was running from someone and I kept falling down.” She’d turned back to Maggie. “You know those dreams where you’re moving in slow motion? I was screaming for you. You were right behind me.”

“I hate those.” Despite the warmth of the car, Maggie had shivered. Aimee was usually sunny, upbeat. But when she had looked over, her blond hair soft against her face, Maggie frowned.

“Don’t ever leave me, okay?” Aimee had said.

That had been almost a year ago. Maggie walked down the side of the road in Wolfe Creek, arms crossed over her chest, looking at the ground but not really seeing it. The last few months had been the worst of her life. As far as tragedy went, she had nothing to compare it to. She’d barely survived and felt lucky her mother hadn’t simply committed her somewhere. She missed Aimee with a deep, painful ache that was always just beneath the surface. Guilt had plagued her for almost a year, now, so awful she had trouble sleeping most every night.
Don’t leave me, okay?

But she had left. She’d left, even though she hadn’t wanted to. She’d left because the police had told her to. Because her family had wanted her home, safe. Because, even though the thought of leaving Wolfe Creek had been enough to make her want to shrivel up in the fetal position, she hadn’t known what else to do.

So she’d come back. It had taken nearly a full year to save enough money. She’d quit her job as a copywriter, trying not to burn every bridge she had in the process, and convinced those around her that doing this would help her “heal” and find “closure.” Whatever that meant.

But her parents had known the truth. She was going back to Wolfe Creek to try and find out what had happened. And she was planning on staying put as long as it took.

Every now and then, a truck passed, and the freezing air swooshing by nearly knocked her off-balance. But she kept walking, stubbornness and God knew what else, pushing her on.

Behind her, a car slowed and eased onto the gravel shoulder. A dirty red Grand Am sporting snow tires and a huge dent in the fender.

She eyed it warily.

The window cranked down and a head of teased hair poked out. “Hey!”

It was Candi, from the diner.

“Hey.”

“Need a lift?”

Maggie studied the other woman for a long second, her bright red lips stretched into a smile, heavily made-up lashes blinking into the late-afternoon sun, gold necklaces glinting like pirate treasure around her neck. And suddenly, she just felt tired.

“Where are you headed?” Candi asked, shivering visibly through the open window.

“Um…I’m not really sure.”

“It’s too cold out here to be taking a walk, girl.” They were scolding words, spoken in a bubble-gum tone. It was hard not to be drawn in by their kindness. In a way, Maggie wanted to be drawn in, if only to let go of some of the pain that hung like a lead weight around her heart. It was all so exhausting.

“Hop in.” Candi nodded toward the passenger’s seat. “I have a quick stop at the mechanic’s, and then I’m gonna grab a cup of coffee before I head home.” She took her hands off the wheel and rubbed them together briskly. “I’d love it if you joined me, Maggie. It’s Maggie, right?”

Maggie nodded.

“What do you say?”

And just like that, Maggie’s heart felt a fraction lighter. She hadn’t grabbed a cup of coffee with anyone in over a year.

“Sure,” she said, walking around to the passenger door. “Why not.”

Chapter Four

The mechanic, Gary Pruit, lounged in his garage and watched them approach. He sat bathed in the fluorescent light of a single bulb that sprouted from the high, cobwebbed ceiling. It seemed to accentuate the dirt on his coveralls, as well as the stubble on his jaw.

Without taking his eyes off them, he turned to spit a brown stream of tobacco juice onto the floor.

“Candi,” he said, nodding as politely as a man with a wad of chew in his mouth could manage, “what can I do for ya?”

Maggie stopped at the open door of the garage while Candi walked in, her tight black skirt riding up with each step she took. Gary didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, was hiding it well. He kept looking from Candi to Maggie, and back again, as if they were going to steal something.

“Gary, you’ve got to fix that damn bumper. It keeps rubbing up against my front tire.”

“Well, we can’t have that, sugar.” He smiled, residual tobacco juice glistening on his lower lip. “I told you I could pop it out. But it’s gonna run ya.”

Candi dug a pack of gum from her purse. Popping a piece into her mouth, she grimaced.

“Yeah, I know,” she said around the pink wad. “How
much
is it gonna run me?”

“Couldn’t do it for less than three hundred.”

“
What?
You know I can’t afford three hundred.”

“Might be closer to four.”

“Shit.”

“You can take it down the mountain. But there ain’t no way they’re fixing it for less, I guarantee you that.” His gaze shifted toward Maggie, and he spit another brown stream. “But I’ll tell you what.”

Candi glanced back at her and rolled her eyes. “What,” she said, facing Gary again.

“I’m having a poker game at my place next weekend. I’d do it for two, if you give us a private show.”

Candi’s curvaceous back straightened. “I don’t do that anymore, Gary. You know that.” Her voice dripped ice cubes. “Thanks for the offer, but I think I’ll live with the damn dent.”

Gary sneered at Maggie. As if she were the reason Candi had stopped doing whatever it was she used to do. “Who’s this?”

“This is Maggie. She’s from Portland. Maggie, this is Gary Pruit, the
only
mechanic in town.”

Maggie nodded. “Nice to meet you.” She didn’t think she’d ever spoken such an outright lie. The guy made her want to bathe in lye soap, and made her more uncomfortable by the second.

“Pleasure’s all mine,” he said. “Outta town, huh? What brings you here all the way from Portland?”

Candi shot her a look. But Maggie knew he’d find out on his own soon enough.

“Just visiting. I’m interested in Wolfe Creek. I’m a writer.”
Where the hell did that come from?

“Writing a book? What kind of book?”

“Not a book. I’m a copywriter. But I
am
interested in the town. Maybe someday I’ll write something for your tourism bureau.” This was rich. The last thing she needed was for anyone to think she’d be writing an exposé about this place, and whether or not there was a murderer living in its midst. But she needed a solid reason to be poking around other than Aimee, and it’d just popped out.

He spit another stream of juice. “
What
tourism bureau?”

“This town is full of history, Mr. Pruit. The Inn itself is no exception. I know there have been several famous visitors over the years, presidents, actors, and I also know people come here just to stay in those rooms. That’s interesting, I think. To most people. And there’s a county-wide tourism bureau, as well as a state one.”

“Huh,” he said, skeptically. Candi just stood there with her mouth open. Maggie hadn’t mentioned anything before about doing any research for writing. Of course, that’s because there hadn’t
been
any research. At least not for writing. Maggie painted a smile on, fake though it was.

“I thought you’d be more interested in our legend over that old hotel.”

“Legend?”

Candi unwrapped another piece of gum. “Christ. She just got here, Gary. She’s going to think this town is full of nut jobs.”

Too late,
Maggie thought.

Gary Pruit considered that for moment, spit another stream of dark brown juice, and leaned forward in his chair. “She’s gonna find out sooner or later.”

Maggie stiffened. “Find out what?”

Candi chewed her gum, managing to look seductive in the process. “Don’t pay any attention to him,” she said, popping a small bubble. “It’s just a bunch of bologna. An urban legend or some such nonsense, made up by bored, ignorant locals.”

The temperature in the garage seemed to drop a notch. Dark clouds had rolled in, pregnant with rain, and the light changed fast. Maggie didn’t like Wolfe Creek in the daytime. At night, it made her want to crawl inside herself, and not come out until dawn.

“Well.” Candi broke the awkward silence. “I think we’ve wasted enough of your time for one evening, Gary.” She turned on her heel. “Come on, Maggie. Let’s grab that coffee, hon.”

Maggie’s gaze lingered on the man in the chair before Candi took her by the elbow and guided her quickly out the door.

“Let me guess. You didn’t meet that guy because of car problems?” Maggie was surprised to find herself relaxing back into the overstuffed chair in the corner of the small mom-and-pop coffee shop. The soft voices of the people around them faded into the background and became a comforting hum, while a steady evening rain drizzled outside the windows.

She took a sip of her steaming mocha, watching Candi over the rim of the mug. The other woman leaned back, seemingly oblivious to the looks she received from the men in the room. In the dim light, she really was breathtaking. Comfortable in her own skin, she exuded sensuality.

Smiling, Candi took a sip of coffee, before setting it on the table beside her. “Would you believe I have a past?”

“That just means you’re interesting.”

“Well, that’s a nice way to put it, I guess.”

“What kind of past?” Maggie asked, liking how it felt to be drinking coffee in a warm room with rain coming down outside.

“Wolfe Creek is a small town, but it’s not
that
small. There used to be a strip club out by the freeway.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Candi hesitated for a second before continuing. “I used to be an exotic dancer.”

“Wow.”

“It was right out of high school and was an easy way to pay the bills.” She shrugged. “It was hard at first, but you get used to it.”

Maggie blew on her coffee, not sure what to say.

“Turns out I was pretty good. Paid the bills and then some.”

“How long did you do it?”

“I’d love to say I had a sudden attack of morality, but I danced there until they closed the place down a few years ago. Been waitressing ever since. I have a little nest egg, though. Put away for a rainy day. So at least I have something to show for it.” She sighed. “Do you think I’m a horrible person now?”

“Of course not,” Maggie said, and meant it. Surprised, since her strict Catholic upbringing didn’t exactly condone topless dancing. But she and religion had recently had a parting of ways. She was angry at everyone for Aimee’s disappearance. Including God. “I don’t think you’re horrible. It must have taken a lot of courage to do what you did. I admire that.”

Candi reached out and patted Maggie’s leg, a gesture that made her stiffen, but the other woman didn’t seem to notice. “I appreciate that, hon. It was an experience all right, but I wouldn’t change any of it. I’ve watched a lot of
Oprah
in my twenty-eight years, and she’d say it made me who I am. And that’s true.”

“It must be hard with creeps like that Gary guy never leaving you alone about it.”

“Oh, he’s a creep all right. But harmless. Gary Pruit can’t get a woody without the help of about three Viagra. That’s a well-known fact.”

They laughed, and a few more people trickled out the door, leaving them alone except for the barista behind the counter. Outside, the wind picked up and the pines swayed like prickly giants who’d had too much to drink.

Silence settled between them, but it was a comfortable one. They sipped their coffee and listened to the rain patter against the window. After a few minutes, Maggie leaned forward, curious.

“I have to ask…you’ve lived here your whole life,” she said. “What do you think of this town? What do you think of the people who live here?”

Candi smiled, her eyes sharp and knowing. She was no dummy. “You mean, do I know anyone who could have snatched your friend?”

“Not exactly. Well…yes. I guess.”

“That’s hard to say. I watch the news. I know how these things unfold. It’s always the last person you expect. But yes. I have a gut feeling that whoever took her lives here. I’ve felt that from the beginning.”

“Me, too.”

“The problem is, when you live in a town this small, everyone protects everyone else. It’s not that they’re necessarily trying to cover anything up; it’s just that I think there’s a deep instinct to watch over their own. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

“Yes.” The police had told Maggie that, too. Had warned her that talking to anyone in town would backfire eventually. She wondered if it would happen with Candi.

Leaning back, she decided to try a different tactic. Maybe if she came up with some specific people, the need to gossip would kick in.

“There’s this guy. He’s staying at the Inn right down the hall from me. Native American, long hair, really good-looking. Do you know him?”

A shadow passed over Candi’s face, her perfectly tweezed brows coming together to form a wrinkle between them. “I do.”

“Who is he?”

“His name is Zane.”

Maggie waited, trying to be patient, knowing her relationship with Candi was new and delicate, like spun sugar. It would collapse if she wasn’t gentle with it. “Zane?”

“Zane Wolfe.”

It took a second for the name to register. “Any relation to Deputy Wolfe from the cafe?”

“Zane is Koda’s brother.”

That’s why they both looked so familiar. The long hair had thrown her off. The leather jacket and worn out jeans, compared to the crisp, official sheriff’s department uniform. So different. Masking the now obvious similarities.
Brothers
.

“How well do you know him?”

Candi looked down, the little wrinkle between her brows remaining. “I’ve been in love with him since the ninth grade,” she said. “That’s how well.”