Shovels were removing more and more dirty snow and mud. A black plastic trash bag split open and a camouflage-patterned jacket sleeve was revealed, then a hand, which was gray, stiff and wrinkled. Bile rose in her throat. She wanted to turn away, to avoid seeing more, yet she couldn’t make herself do it.

  This was the stuff of night terrors, of horrible, warped imaginings that were far worse than reality. Only this time, the images were real. There was a body hidden in her yard and she had no idea why, or where it had come from.

  She stifled the urge to shout her innocence at the top of her lungs. Doing that, of course, was ridiculous. Anybody who knew her, really knew her, would know she wasn’t capable of hurting people. She didn’t even argue with anyone if she could avoid it.

  Thoughts of arguments brought visions of her parents’ negative reactions to her decision to quit business school and become a park ranger. She wasn’t designed to sit behind a big desk and be a cutthroat oil executive like her father. It was too bad she hadn’t been able to make him see that when she’d changed career paths.

  Childhood feelings and memories caused Brooke to suddenly yearn to phone her mother. She resisted. True innocence would clear her. That was how the law worked, right?

  She considered the bloodhound, who was now acting like a happy puppy, bouncing around on the end of a long lead and shaking the soggy stuffed animal toy. Seeing his innocent exuberance made it easier to find her voice. “I’m Brooke Stevens.”

  “So you said.”

  “I did, didn’t I? Guess I’m a little addled tonight.”

  “That’s understandable,” the K-9 officer said with a subtle bow.

  “Your dog is beautiful. Can I touch him?”

  “Not while he’s in uniform,” Colt warned. “He’s a working K-9 when he’s wearing his vest and harness, and he knows it.”

  She stuffed her hands back into her pockets. “Sorry.”

  “No problem.”

  “Good to see you again,” Brooke said, before rethinking her response. “This is not the best of circumstances, but you know what I mean.”

  “I do.”

  For the first time since his arrival, Colt seemed to soften a little but quickly sobered, gesturing at the snow pile. “Do you know who that might be?”

  “Not a clue. Sorry.”

  “For your sake I hope that’s still true once we get a look at a face,” he said. “Most murders involve individuals who are acquainted, family or friends.”

  “That’s so sad.”

  When he said, “Yes, it is,” she could tell how deeply he meant it. He went on as if suddenly remembering the words in a scripted interrogation. “I take it you have no coworkers missing.”

  She shook her head. “Not that I know of. Superintendent Henning is the one to ask about staff. She keeps close tabs on everything and everybody.”

  Colt quirked a smile, averting his face so only Brooke could see. “No doubt. She strikes me as the kind of person who’d put a dish of candy on her desk then give you a dirty look if you took a piece.”

  Brooke nodded. “I’ve never thought of it quite that way but you’re right. I suppose being persnickety is a desired leadership trait.”

  “Now there’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time. Where are you from, Stevens?”

  “It’s a long story. What about you?”

  “Headquarters for our unit is Olympia.”

  She knew he was aware she’d been asking a personal question and had chosen to pretend otherwise. Well, fine. She wasn’t any more eager to discuss roots than he apparently was, although she did wonder about his background. There was something appealing about the intensity in his deep blue eyes, as if they masked a secret that only he was privy to.

  And speaking of secrets... Brooke’s gaze darted back to the activity taking place. Thoughts of another innocent person losing his or her life, especially amid the grandeur of this national park, hurt her heart. Unshed tears gathered.

  “It’ll be okay,” Colt offered, stepping slightly closer and lightly touching the sleeve of her coat. “Don’t worry.”

  When she looked up at him, telltale drops of sadness escaped to trickle down her cheeks. She sniffled and whisked them away.

  “I hope so. This whole thing is unbelievable.”

  “Whole thing?”

  “The crime wave. We haven’t solved the double homicide in the park last month, let alone found the reasons behind other recent suspicious activity. I mean, a certain number of daredevil types get hurt every year when they pit themselves against the mountain or underestimate our lakes and rivers and drown, but this year is different. The problem this year isn’t due to only foolish bravado—it’s apparently being caused by an enemy of law and order, as well. There’s a big difference.”

  “Do you think all the cases you mentioned are connected?”

  Brooke shrugged. “I don’t see how they can be. I mean, what can they possibly have in common?” She broke off, staring blankly at the digging activity.

  The expression on the K-9 cop’s face was telling. He asked, “How can you know they don’t when we don’t have an ID on whoever’s buried here?”

  “I can’t.” Realizing how guilty her casual comment made her look, she blushed. “I just meant...”

  Colt stopped her with a raised hand. “Don’t say anything else before you consult an attorney.”

  “What?” She was incensed. “I don’t need a lawyer. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

  Although he said, “Good,” his expression showed doubt.

  Brooke just stood there, her mouth gaping. A feeling of being watched caused her to scan the people nearby and those waiting by the road. Every eye was on her as if they were waiting for her to blurt out a confession.

  Flinging both arms wide, she screeched then shouted, “I am not guilty!”

  * * *

  The outburst from the usually personable ranger surprised Colt and he wasn’t the only one. Sampson stopped playing and returned to his side, awaiting instructions. Everybody close enough to hear stopped moving, stopped working.

  Georgia Henning trotted up and took Brooke by the arm. “Enough. You’ll wait in my car while we finish.”

  Noting the set of Brooke’s jaw and the way she’d planted her feet, Colt decided to interfere before the situation escalated. “I’ve got this,” he said. “I’d really like her to be here to see if she recognizes the victim’s face when it’s uncovered, if you don’t mind.”

  Hesitancy on the part of the older ranger didn’t surprise him. After all, her position did essentially outrank his, even though they were members of different law-enforcement agencies. Colt patted the closed holster at his waist in unspoken assurance. “I’ll take responsibility.”

  In the few seconds it took Georgia to make up her mind to relinquish control, Colt tried to comfort Brooke with a reassuring look. It fell flat. By the time her boss turned on her heel and stalked away, Brooke was clearly boiling mad.

  “Save some of that anger to help melt the snow,” Colt said.

  “What?”

  He chuckled. “Lady, if you could redirect the flaming arrows of injured pride shooting from your eyes, the whole park would be ready for wildflowers months early.”

  “It’s not pride, it’s truth. I know I’m innocent.”

  “Then take a deep breath, settle down and wait with me while the crime-scene people finish their job. Stats show that guilty folks are quicker to fly off the handle than the ones with nothing to hide.”

  He could tell by the color infusing her cheeks that she was about to counter his statistics. Well, fine. Anything that kept her from implicating herself was okay with him, even if it meant he was about to get a talking-to. He’d spent his early childhood being berated and blamed for things he hadn’t done. He was a pro at listening to punishing accusations without taking them to heart.

  Colt closed his eyes for a nanosecond and envisioned the police descending on his family’s backyard. Digging up his missing mom. Arresting his guilty father and taking him away in handcuffs. Being sent to live with his grandparents, who, though loving, never got over the loss of their daughter.

  He blinked to clear his head. This situation was different in many ways. He was old enough to make a difference now. He had authority and training to give back to society, to make amends for the cruelty of his own dad and to keep the innocent from suffering the way his mother had.

  Taking a chance he wouldn’t be rebuffed, he lightly touched Brooke’s elbow again. As soon as she turned to look at him, he smiled slightly. “It’s going to be okay. I know things look bad for you right now but as long as you’re innocent you shouldn’t let it get to you.”

  “Easy for you to say.”

  “Actually, it isn’t,” Colt countered. “It’s something I had to learn the hard way. Keeping control of your emotions and exercising patience are important, Brooke. Can I call you Brooke?”

  She sighed noisily. “I guess.”

  “Good. Think about all that’s been happening, Brooke. Try to find connections or reasons why somebody is paying extra attention to you.”

  “Like the guy who jumped me on the trail tonight, you mean?”

  “Yes. Did he say anything? Might you know him?” A blank stare into the distant darkness indicated she was thinking, so he paused and waited for her conclusion.

  Finally, she said, “I don’t know why I assumed it was a man who attacked me. Now that I think about it, he wasn’t very big and certainly not much stronger than I am.”

  “It could have been a woman, you mean?”

  Brooke snorted derisively. “It could just as easily have been a teenage boy. We have plenty of those up here, although most come on spring break or during the summer. Some even get jobs working the concessions after the campgrounds open, like at the grocery or fast-food stops near the Wilderness Museum.”

  “How about clothing? Anything identifiable.”

  “Humph.” Shaking her head, she explained, “Black pants, generic boots, puffy quilted jacket, gloves and a ski mask. There probably aren’t more than a couple hundred outfits just like it in the park at any one time.”

  “That’s helpful.” Irony colored his words and one side of his mouth quirked.

  “Ya think?”

  “Yeah.” Reaching for her again, he gave her arm a tug. “Come on, Brooke. We need an ID on this victim.”

  “And everybody just assumes I know him?”

  Because she resisted he let go and brought Sampson to heel. “Sorry. Follow us.”

  Intent on watching her expression when she first saw the victim’s face, Colt passed the crime scene quickly and stopped opposite for a clear view of the pretty ranger. Color had drained from her face except for red blotches from the cold on her cheeks and a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose. He had never paid attention to natural redheads before so he wasn’t positive, but he suspected that such fair skin would show changes more than most.

  One of the technicians kneeling in the snow was gently brushing off the victim’s face—it was a male, young-looking, with brown hair. The skin was slightly wrinkled and puckered and his lips were a sickly blue-gray color that would have told anyone he was deceased even if he hadn’t been buried.

  The tech leaned back on his haunches so a crime-scene photographer could snap pictures in situ, before the victim was moved. Colt kept full concentration on Brooke. Her hazel eyes widened slightly, then filled with tears.

  “You know him,” Colt ventured.

  “No.” She sniffled. “I don’t.”

  “Then why are you upset?” It seemed like a logical question until she began to look at him as if he had just said something terrible.

  “A young man has died,” Brooke said. “Don’t you feel the loss? The sadness that he’ll never get a chance to experience the years that were stolen from him?”

  “Of course, I do,” Colt said quickly. “My job now is to find out who he is, who did this to him and why, and get justice.”

  Brooke raised an eyebrow. “While you’re at it, please make sure you don’t blame an innocent person, okay?”

  “Meaning you?”

  “Yes. Meaning me.”

  * * *

  After what she’d seen, reality hit Brooke hard. She’d already been shaky from the cold. Now her tremulousness was coming from her core and sapping what strength she’d had left. She knew she felt ill and weak, but she didn’t realize she was swaying until the K-9 cop took her arm again and started to urge her away.

  Without arguing, she let him steer her toward the waiting ranger vehicles. He opened a passenger door. “Here. Sit down before you fall down. I’ll keep you posted. I promise.”

  “I’m okay,” she insisted as a matter of course when she knew otherwise. Rangers had an image to maintain. They weren’t wimps who fainted at the slightest provocation. They also didn’t ask handsome K-9 cops to keep them company during crises. But, oh, she wanted to. There was a killer in the park, at her cabin, meaning anybody she encountered could be the guilty party.

  Events in her past had proved difficult to face but nothing had been as bad as this. She’d dealt with being ostracized as a child because her mother had insisted on dressing her in expensive clothing and setting her apart from others in every possible way, as if having money made her better, somehow, which she knew wasn’t true. Getting around that separation had been easier and easier as she’d grown older and begun making her own decisions, and by the time she’d entered ranger training she’d made up her mind to keep her familial fortune a secret.

  Brooke shivered and folded her arms across her chest. Was it possible that someone knew she was one of those Stevenses? The obscenely rich ones. The ones who had undoubtedly made enemies via business choices. Had the person who had grabbed her on the trail meant to kidnap her for ransom?

  That notion was ridiculous. Or was it? If she raised the possibility to law enforcement, she knew they would do a background search and find out just how wealthy her parents were. Then everyone would know and she’d be right back where she’d started, viewed as if she thought she was better than everybody else when that was the furthest thing from her mind. Her Christian faith had taught her that, reaffirming the conclusions she’d come to on a secular level. They were all equal in the sight of God. All loved. All forgiven and redeemed if they merely asked to be. And money had nothing to do with it, although she had often thought about how much good she could do with the inheritance that would one day be hers.

  A sharp knock on the car window startled her enough to make her jump. Relief followed. It was Colt.

  He opened the door halfway and leaned down to speak quietly. “The victim has been shot. Do you own a gun?”

  “Yes.”

  “Not a duty weapon?”

  “No. I’m entry-level. We do interpretive-nature talks and make sure the trails are clear, things like that.”

  “We’ll need to take your weapon for testing.”

  “Of course.” She glanced past him and watched a slim woman with a different K-9, a brown-and-white German shorthair pointer, starting toward the crime scene. “Who’s that?”

  “Willow Bates and Star,” Colt said. “I’ve asked her to conduct a search of the grounds before we open your cabin and take a chance on disturbing the scents.”

  “Why not keep using Sampson? What does the other dog do that he can’t?”

  “Star is trained to find explosives and firearms. If a gun has been recently fired, she’ll locate it.”

  Brooke sagged back in the seat. “Good.”

  “Good?”

  “Yes.” She chanced a slight smile. “When you find it, if you do, you can test it so you’ll all know I had nothing to do with this horrible crime.”

  “You sound pretty convinced.”

  The smile spread. “Mister, I have never been so sure of anything. I’ll even pray you succeed.”

  “You’re that positive?”

  Brooke nodded. “Totally.”

  THREE

  Colt left Brooke in the parked ranger car, put Sampson in his own SUV to rest and warm up, then hurried to join Willow. “Any hits?”

  “Not yet.” Her concentration was on Star but she did smile. “Aren’t you going to do more tracking around the perimeter?”

  “Eventually. Sampson is pretty chilled. The tracks aren’t going anywhere, and he needs to warm up a bit.”

  “Understood. If I’d thought about it I’d have brought booties for Star, just in case. She hates wearing them, though, and I think she does her best work when all she has to worry about is finding gunpowder residue.”

  “Yeah, my dog doesn’t like them, either.”

  Staying in their wake and shining his flashlight ahead, he followed Willow and the pointer as they approached the burial site, then worked past it, traveling toward the cabin. He knew this K-9 well enough to tell she hadn’t picked up a trail. Yet.

  Willow guided Star around the far side of the cabin. There were fewer footprints evident, but there was one set that led to a small tool shed. Star pulled toward the shed and pawed at the door.

  “Want me to force it?” Colt asked, directing his light toward the padlock.

  “Looks like you won’t have to.”

  She was right. The lock was in place, as if it was intact, but closer inspection showed it had already been cut.

  Gloved, Colt carefully removed the lock from the hasp and slipped it into a plastic evidence bag. Then he braced himself and pushed open the door. Hinges creaked. Cobwebs hung from the low rafters. Willow gave Star the command to seek.

  The well-trained K-9 wasted no time pinpointing a toolbox. Willow pulled her back and rewarded her with a pat, waiting to see if she had truly been successful.