The Hidden (11 page)

“Of course.”

“You didn’t have to.”

“Yes, I did.”

“That’s who you are,” she said softly.

He didn’t answer. He didn’t know what to say.

“Diego?”

“Yes?”

“That’s an admirable quality, you know.”

Her fingers closed around him, and to his chagrin, he was instantly aroused.

Apparently forgetting her promise to let him sleep, she slid atop him. “And so is this,” she teased.

They made love again, and it was a very long time before he went to sleep.

7

T
he dreams that filled Scarlet’s unconscious mind came with morning’s light rather than the deepest darkness of the night.

It seemed to Scarlet that she was waking up, roused by the glow of dawn slipping into the room. The sun. But then the sun was suddenly surrounded by a haze, as if a mist had come from nowhere to dull its brilliance. And that notion was ridiculous, she knew, because mist didn’t come in bright sunlight, it came on days when storms were darkening the skies. But logic didn’t matter, because the mist was there, diffusing the glow of the sun. And then...

Someone was walking toward her through the mist.

No, there were two of them...

Two men walking toward her. One moved stiffly, like the living robots she’d seen entertaining tourists in Times Square. The other moved naturally, shaking his head as if in amusement at his companion’s awkwardness.

They both looked to be in their thirties, wearing jeans, Western-style shirts and cowboy hats.

At first she wasn’t afraid.

“We’re just trying to help,” the awkward one assured her, reaching the foot of the bed. It was the statue of Nathan Kendall, she realized.

“You’re one of us,” the other said. She wasn’t sure who he was; she couldn’t see him past Nathan.

“We’re coming back,” Nathan said.

“We’re trying to help,” the other said.

“Trying to save you,” said Nathan...

That was when she awoke, bolting upright from the dream. She stared at the foot of her bed, terrified that the statue would be standing there again.

It wasn’t, and she breathed deeply in relief.

Diego. Diego was here.

She stretched a hand out across the sheets. Diego
wasn’t
here.

He’d always been an early riser, even when he’d stayed up late. He was probably just in the bathroom or in the kitchen making coffee. And Brett was there somewhere, too. She was safe.

She inhaled deeply and told herself that she’d simply had a weird dream.

All she had to do was let the dream drift away and she would be fine. She reminded herself that she’d had a pretty spectacular night. But now she needed to shower and face the day. At least now she wasn’t alone.

She showered quickly, and realized from the wet towels and familiar razor by the sink that Diego had showered and shaved earlier. There was something comforting about seeing the evidence of his presence there.

She dressed quickly and headed to the kitchen.

There was an unfamiliar older man sitting at the table. His hair was snow white, neatly cut, and he was studying one of Nathan Kendall’s journals.

For a moment, she froze, wondering about her sanity, her dreams and mannequins that moved.

She stood there gaping, wondering if the man was real or not.

He was.

And he proved it by standing up as soon as he noticed her and smiling.

“Scarlet, hello, I’m so sorry to have startled you. Brett let me in a little while ago. I’m Adam Harrison.” He offered her his hand.

Relieved and feeling more than a little silly, she smiled and quickly walked forward to offer him her hand in return.

“It’s very nice to meet you. I’ve heard all about you, of course. You were so kind to send everyone out here so quickly to help me.”

“I was happy to do it. Come, why don’t sit down and join me?”

“Just let me get some coffee,” she said. She poured herself a cup and sat down beside him.

“Phantom photos—now that’s something new,” Adam said.

“I wasn’t the only one who saw them,” she said, and realized that she sounded defensive. “Ben—Ben Kendall, my boss—saw the pictures, too. They were there—and then they weren’t.”

“I don’t doubt you for a minute. The camera will be on its way to our own people back East very soon. We’ll find out what’s going on.”

“That’s great, thank you,” Scarlet said. Then she asked, “Do you know where Diego is?”

“I do. He and the others are with Lieutenant Gray. They’re heading to the morgue to examine the remains that were discovered up on the mountain.”

“Ah, okay,” she said. She didn’t know what else to say, so she asked, “Can I get you something to eat?”

“No, I ate on the plane, but feel free to get yourself something. Once you’re done, I would love to see your museum. I understand it holds an extensive weapons collection.”

“It does—except that it’s not here at the moment. The police took all our weapons. Except—”

“Yes, I know. You’re missing an 1849 Colt pocket percussion revolver,” Adam said. “Most probably the murder weapon.”

“Someone must have broken in here and stolen it,” she said.

“They won’t now,” he assured her. “Not only do you have an alarm system, but we know exactly where all the keys are—with us.”

“Didn’t Ben ask for a key?” she asked. “He does own the property.”

“We asked him not to for the time being,” he told her. “Go on. Grab yourself some breakfast. While you eat, I’ll bore you with the story of my life.”

“I doubt any story about you could be boring.”

He smiled at that. “It all depends on what you’re willing to believe.”

* * *

The fact that anyone could actually tell anything about the remains that had been found up on the mountain was mind-boggling to Diego.

There was virtually nothing left.

They didn’t see the medical examiner; they saw a woman named Tammy Vargo, who was a forensic anthropologist and bone specialist. She was a no-nonsense woman with iron-gray hair and sharp features, but she was happy to speak with them, pointing out everything she’d been able to discover about the dead man.

“There wasn’t enough soft tissue left to determine cause of death—probably because he was left out in the open. As the ME probably told you, there are no nicks or scratches on the bones, so it’s unlikely that he was stabbed. If he was shot, it was a through-and-through and, again, never even nicked a bone. He was in his midthirties, maybe six-two or six-three. He died sometime between two and six months ago, tops. I linked the fabric fragments to a designer brand available here in town and all across the country. He never had a cavity, so we won’t get any help from dental records. No fingerprints, of course. No breaks in any of the bones—guy never even broke a toe. My guess is that he froze to death—the tundra level gets very cold—but as to why he was caught out there that way, I don’t know. He could have been bound and left, but no evidence of rope or any other kind of cord or whatever turned up. I wish there was more I could tell but I can’t. This appears to be the skeleton of a man who—until his demise—was incredibly healthy.”

“Thank you anyway,” Diego told her. “It’s actually helpful to be able to rule things out.”

Matt added, “We have a forensic artist coming to do a likeness. I hope you don’t mind.”

“They aren’t my bones,” she said. “Somebody somewhere is probably missing him. If an artist can help ID him and bring someone peace, I’m all for it.”

As they were driving back to the ranch, Brett asked Diego, “Do you think that guy’s death could be related to the Parkers’ murders? People do climb mountains, and sometimes they die on them.”

“I don’t think we have enough information yet to say. But what’s going on is strange, to say the least. My gut tells me the Parkers
were
murdered because Larry was descended from Nathan Kendall. I think the killer had a key to the museum—whether legitimately or because he stole it—and not only stole the gun, but moved the statue of Nathan Kendall into Scarlet’s room to scare her when she woke up.” Diego saw their startled looks and remembered that they weren’t privy to that information, so he quickly explained. “I also think the killer tried to set her up, somehow putting those pictures on her camera, though how he managed that and then managed to erase them, I don’t know,” he said.

“Well, we’ll know about the camera soon enough; Adam had it sent to Will Chan, and if anyone can figure out how it was hacked, it’s Will,” Meg said with assurance.

“Who’s the artist you mentioned? And when is he coming?” Brett asked.

“
She
is Jane Everett,” Matt said. “She’s from Texas, and she’s been with the Krewe a few years now. She’s the best I’ve ever seen. She’ll be in and ready to work her magic by tonight.”

“Let’s hope whatever she comes up with will help us find out who he is,” Brett said.

“If he’d been from here, someone would have reported him missing,” Meg said.

Diego looked out the window as the conversation faded. That morning, before they’d left, he’d stopped by the statue of Nathan Kendall. He was going to jokingly thank it for spooking Scarlet and giving him the kind of night that he’d once taken almost for granted and then thought he would never experience again.

Yet he’d never said a word, because something about the mannequin had seemed...different.

He’d only just joined the Krewe, but he’d researched the unit and its members extensively when Matt and Meg had come down to Florida to help with his zombie case.

They all saw the dead, just as he and Brett had.

But the mannequin...

It was wood and paint.

Still, he could have sworn the damned thing had smiled at him as if saying, “Yeah, friend, I did you a big favor. Now take good care of what you have, okay?”

Thinking about the mannequin, the unidentified remains and the murders, he asked, “Where are Nathan and Jillian Kendall buried?”

“We can ask Scarlet—I’m certain she’ll know,” Meg said.

“I’d like to see their graves,” Diego said.

“Not a bad idea,” Matt said.

When they returned to the museum, Diego used his new key to open the door, then disarmed and reset the alarm. It was broad daylight, of course, but an alarm system was only ever as good as the way it was used, and he intended that they should use it.

The others headed up the stairs. He paused in front of the mannequin again.

Had
something subtly changed about it? Or was it all in his mind?

He heard laughter drifting down from upstairs. Scarlet’s laughter. It was wonderful to hear it again.

The mannequin stared back at him. Suddenly he found himself back in Miami, in that room at the detention center with the old woman.

I just want to protect her.

Once again, the words seemed to have come from the mannequin.

“Yeah?” he said softly. “Well, so do I. And I’m flesh and blood, and I’m not leaving until she’s safe,” he assured the mannequin. He felt a little like a fool. Ghosts were one thing. Lots of people made very credible claims to have seen and even communicated with them.

But talking to a mannequin? That was something else entirely.

Or was it?

“Diego?” Brett called from the top of the stairs.

He climbed up to join the others and found them gathered around the kitchen table, where an older man who had to be Adam Harrison seemed to be delighting Scarlet.

She looked over at him. “Brett was saying that you wanted to know where Nathan and Jillian were buried. They’re up the little mountain peak behind the stables. There’s a small historic cemetery up there. You can hike to it, which is a long trip, or you can ride.”

“What are the chances of us all taking a ride?” he asked.

“They’re good,” she said. “No new guests have shown up, so the horses are just standing around the corral. And,” she added, grinning, “Angus seems to like you.”

“Adam, are you joining us?” Matt asked.

“I think I’ll spend some time getting to know everyone here at the ranch,” Adam said. He pulled a small notebook from his pocket; he was obviously old-school.

“Owners—Ben, real name Bertram, Kendall and his wife, Trisha. Head housekeeper, Linda Reagan. Angus Fillmore runs the stables. The remaining guests are Terry Ballantree, newlyweds Gwen and Charles Barton and retirees Gigi and Clark Levin. The Levins are regular visitors, coming every year. I’m thinking they could be quite helpful.”

“The guests may be down in town,” Meg said.

“If they are, they’ll come back eventually. I can rock on the porch, talk to Ben and Trisha, or interview the housekeeper. There’s plenty for me to do here,” Adam assured her.

“Are there enough horses, Scarlet?” Diego asked.

“There are eight, so we’ll be fine. Angus can take us. Ben doesn’t let the horses out unless it’s with Angus or himself,” she said.

“All right.” Diego looked around the room and grinned. They were all dressed casually enough to go riding, except for Adam, who was in a suit. Diego had a feeling Adam was always in a suit. It was a good thing he didn’t plan to go riding with them.

Scarlet’s eyes met his, and she quickly looked away. She didn’t actually blush, but he knew she was thinking about last night. He smiled, lowering his own eyes.

It was good to be back with her. It made the day better—no matter what it brought.

And tonight...

He had no intention of thinking about tonight and all the nights to come. Not now. Time for that later, when this case was solved. When Scarlet was safe.

* * *

Scarlet had always loved the fact that she’d grown up with sun and water—and horses.

Her favorite of Conway Ranch’s hack line was Blaze, a bay gelding with, naturally, a blaze on his forehead. He was a good sixteen hands high, had beautiful gaits and seemed to like just about everyone.

Of course, she wanted to think that he especially liked her.

Angus was happy for the chance to tack up the horses and go for a ride.

After he’d saddled the mounts he’d decided upon for each rider, he confided to Scarlet, “Thank the Lord you all want to go riding. I like it here, and no matter what Ben says or what his finances are, with nobody new coming to stay, I was getting worried he might lay me off ’til things pick up again. So you say where and we’ll go.”

“We want to ride up to the old cemetery,” Scarlet said.

He studied her for a minute and then shrugged. “A little creepy, but okay.”

As the Krewe and Scarlet mounted up, Angus said, “Don’t worry, no one is on a kicker or a biter. And they know these trails better than me. Just sit back and enjoy. There will be a lot of single file up the mountain, so keep up. They’ll want to snack along the way. It’s not mean to stop them. In fact, it’s better for their bellies if you do. They know they’re not supposed to stop for a nibble, but they’re going to test you, so be bosses. Gentle bosses, but bosses.”