When Colt opened the rusty red box all he saw was what anyone would expect—tools. They weren’t sorted neatly, though. They were piled atop a greasy rag in the bottom. He looked to Willow. “Better radio the CSI team and get them in here. I have a bad feeling about what’s under that rag.”

  “Me, too.” She stepped outside with her dog and did as he asked.

  Colt remained rooted to the spot, watching the rag as if it covered a venomous snake. If this was hiding the murder weapon, as Star thought, the pretty ranger with the innocent-looking hazel eyes was in the clear. Or was she?

  He shook off his doubts. Of course she was. She’d insisted that her gun was in the cabin and, assuming she was innocent, her prints wouldn’t be out here on this one. Problem solved. As soon as the techs could check her against whatever they found here, any previous suspicions would be erased.

  Trading places with two white-suited evidence techs to give them room to work, Colt pointed to the suspicious toolbox and waited until they had uncovered an automatic weapon, then left to tell Brooke the news.

  He was smiling when he approached and she got out of the car to meet him. “Star found a gun. Our forensics people will determine if it was recently fired. You should be in the clear as soon as they test it for prints and DNA. Oh, and we’ll need to see your gun, too.”

  “No problem.” It pleased him to see her starting to relax and even smiling slightly. “When can we go into the cabin?”

  “You won’t need to come along. Just tell me where you keep the gun and I’ll go.”

  “Okay.” Her smile widened and she reached into her jacket pocket. “Here’s my key. I’ll be so relieved when you’re done. This has been a nightmare.”

  “Well, it’s almost over.” He pocketed the key ring. “They’re sending a van for the body. Once there’s a tech free we’ll go get your gun.”

  “You’ll have to take it, won’t you?”

  “Yes, but probably not keep it long. I know all this has been hard on you, but have faith.”

  “Do you?” she asked him.

  “Do I what?”

  “Have faith.”

  “As a matter of fact, I do. My grandparents took me to church with them.”

  “You do realize there’s more to it than sitting in a pew on Sunday, don’t you?”

  He had to smile at that question. She was stuck in the middle of a mess of her own, yet nevertheless concerned about his salvation. “I do.”

  “Their faith convinced you?”

  “No, it was much more complicated than that,” Colt said honestly. “It’s a long story.”

  “I’d like to hear it sometime,” Brooke said.

  Although he had no intention of telling her or anyone else about the stigma of being the son of a convicted murderer, he didn’t argue. The realization that God, that Jesus, loved and accepted him regardless of his ancestry had finally brought him to his knees and changed his life for the better. However, that was personal, between him and God.

  “Maybe one day,” Colt said. “Get back in the car and sit tight. Where should I look for your gun?”

  “It’s in the back of my linen closet, behind the sheets.”

  He rolled his eyes. “It won’t do you much good stuffed in a closet.”

  “Truth?” Brooke said softly.

  “Please.”

  “I don’t think I could ever shoot anybody. I just like the feeling of security I get from knowing it’s there.”

  “You have no plans to go on into the law-enforcement side of being a ranger?”

  “Nope. I’m happy right here, helping people and teaching kids how to respect the environment. I could write a book about all the funny and silly things that happen.”

  “Maybe someday, after you’re cleared, you can tell me. Right now it looks like they’re ready to go in.”

  “Linen closet, end of the hall, behind the sheets,” Brooke reminded him.

  Reluctant to leave her and not sure why, Colt started for the cabin. His mind had it all worked out. They’d find her gun, prove that it hadn’t been fired, test the one from the tool shed and she’d be fully cleared.

  And then what? he asked himself. The short time he’d had to spend with her had awakened the realization that his life was all work and little else. Not that he minded. He loved his job with the PNK9 Unit, everything from the training to being deployed in the field. His first choice might not have been assignment to a cadaver dog, but in a way, that felt like destiny.

  It had been a dog trained like Sampson that had helped the police locate his mom’s grave all those years ago. The dog had solved the crime and its instincts had ended his father’s lies, once and for all. Thank God, literally, for the grandparents who’d loved him and had helped him heal. Without their unconditional love, he didn’t know where he’d be or what would have become of him.

  An unspoken prayer rose in his heart. It included his late mother as well as her mom and dad, then expanded to his unit members and their K-9s. The image of Brooke Stevens came to mind, making him wonder what kind of upbringing she’d had. There was something very intriguing about that park ranger, something that made him hope she’d be exonerated.

  He unlocked the cabin door for the evidence team then followed them in. “Linen closet, down the hall,” Colt said.

  Two techs started pulling out sheets and towels and dropping them into piles on the floor. When every shelf was empty, they turned to him.

  Colt gaped. “Maybe—maybe she moved it and forgot.”

  “You believe that?” one of them asked.

  Disappointed, he shook his head. “No,” he said sadly. “No, I don’t.”

  * * *

  Brooke saw Colt coming back. He did not look pleased so she climbed back out of the SUV to face him. “What’s wrong?”

  “No gun.”

  “What do you mean ‘no gun’? I told you right where I keep it.”

  “You did. And it wasn’t there.”

  A sense of foreboding began in her core and infused her whole body. “Of course it is.” She started past him.

  He stopped her physically, his hands on her upper arms. “You can’t go in there.”

  “Why not? I know the gun is there.”

  “And I know it isn’t.”

  Brooke was glad Colt was still grasping her arms because she was starting to feel woozy.

  “How long has it been since you actually saw it?” he asked.

  Slowly shaking her head, she tried to recall. “I don’t know. I just assumed it was still there because that’s where I put it.”

  “Was there a trigger lock on it?”

  “No. I live alone. There was no reason to lock it.”

  “So it could have been taken today or anytime in the past.” His piercing blue eyes fixed on her, and Brooke trembled at the implication.

  “I’m sure I saw it as recently as last week,” she insisted. “I’m always very careful when I take anything out of the linen closet because I don’t want to accidentally drop it.”

  “You don’t know a lot about guns, do you?”

  “I passed a gun-safety course.”

  “Then you should know that modern firearms are pretty safe to handle...if you know what you’re doing.”

  “It’s a deadly weapon. I always treat it with respect.”

  It didn’t help Brooke’s mood when the K-9 cop rolled his eyes. “Anybody who’s as scared of guns as you are shouldn’t have one in the first place.”

  “Now you sound like my dad.”

  “He must be a smart man,” Colt countered, “because I agree with him.”

  “Terrific.” She leaned back against the side of the SUV and sighed. “What happens now?”

  “They’ll search the cabin, top to bottom. If they don’t locate your gun, I imagine you’ll be taken into custody and questioned.”

  “Wait a minute. I didn’t shoot anybody.” Brooke heard an undercurrent of panic in her tone but wasn’t able to fully mask her uneasiness. Still, there were hundreds of different kinds of firearms. The chances that the murder weapon was just like hers wasn’t likely.

  There was only one way to find out. “Tell me more about the gun the dog found. What kind was it?”

  “Automatic. I didn’t stick around long enough to see the make or caliber.”

  Swallowing the lump in her throat, Brooke stared at him, watching his expression as she asked, “Could it have been a .357?”

  “Maybe. Why?”

  “You never asked me about my gun. It’s a Ruger .357. The slide is really hard to pull, but I manage. I always keep the chamber empty, just in case.”

  He stared at her but didn’t respond.

  Frustration boiled over, heated from inside her by burgeoning fear. Nothing she could imagine would be nearly as bad as this whole scenario was beginning to look. “Could the gun have been a Ruger?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Blued or plated?”

  “It was wrapped in an oily rag but there was no silver shine so I’d have to guess blued. Even if it is the same make and model as yours, the serial numbers won’t match.”

  “Unless somebody stole my gun.”

  “Yes.” Sidling closer and bending to speak privately, Colt asked, “When you clean it to store it, do you wipe it down so the oil from your hands doesn’t leave a residue?”

  “Yes. Yes, I do.” She began to feel as if a load had been lifted. “My fingerprints won’t be on it, even if it is my gun!”

  “They may be on the bullets from when you loaded the clip but that would be expected. It’s the outside of the gun that will tell the tale.”

  “Then let’s go. Let’s get this over with. Take me in and test me.”

  “That will be up to our bosses, not me. Your prints are probably on file from your background check when you became a ranger so that just leaves DNA.”

  “I can hardly wait.”

  Colt huffed. “That sounded pretty cynical. I wouldn’t make fun of all this if I were you.”

  “You might if you were as sure as I am that I’m totally innocent. First of all, I don’t believe somebody used my gun, but even if they did, the only thing I’m guilty of is not keeping it under lock and key.” She paused and pressed her cold lips together into a thin line. “If that turns out to be true, then I’ll accept that blame and live with it somehow. I know I was careful. There’s no way I could have known a criminal would break in and steal, then kill, with my gun.”

  Colt tilted his head sideways and arched one eyebrow. “Sounds like you have it all figured out.”

  “Far from it. I just trust the workings of justice and the skill of the crime-scene techs. They can’t find what isn’t there.”

  “What if the scientific findings point to you?”

  Brooke was trembling inside, yet adamant. “I don’t care. I know I’m innocent.”

  FOUR

  Willow faced Colt with a frown. “They’re actually arresting her?”

  “Not technically, although she will be held until she’s had a second fingerprinting and a DNA test at a neutral location. Probably Ashford.”

  “All that can be done right here.”

  He had to agree. “I know. But they’re playing it safe to avoid any hint of collusion. Besides, it won’t hurt Brooke to be in custody for a while. She’ll be protected that way.”

  “Humph. I’m beginning to understand exactly why Mara panicked and ran from the Stark-and-Digby murder scene last month. She looked—looks—guilty. I get that. I do. But that doesn’t mean she did it.”

  Colt recalled the PNK9 Unit’s own CSI rookie, Mara Gilmore, fleeing from the crime scene. A witness had reported seeing a woman matching her description shoot the young couple, though that witness had used a burner phone and was unreachable. But when the chief tried to reach Mara by cell phone, she didn’t answer. No one had heard from her or seen her since. “I saw Mara there myself. It doesn’t look good for her...” Colt stopped in midsentence. “Look, I understand that you and she were friends.”

  “Are friends.”

  “Okay. You are friends. But even people we love and admire can make mistakes. Maybe Mara let her emotions get the better of her. She was a recent ex of the murdered man. Jealousy can be a strong motivator.”

  “So can fear,” Willow argued. “In her situation, with bullets flying and two people already lying dead, I’d probably have run away, too. Even if she witnessed Stacey Stark and Jonas Digby being murdered, that’s not proof she fired the shots that killed them.”

  “You do have a point. I can see why she’d flee right then. Staying in hiding, however, doesn’t make any sense. I don’t know Mara Gilmore the way you say you do, but any sensible person would come forward to offer testimony and claim her innocence.”

  “Like Brooke Stevens is trying to do right now?” Willow countered. “Brooke did everything by the book except stay at the scene of her attack on the hiking trail and look where it got her.”

  “You don’t think she’s guilty, do you?”

  Willow made a face. “It’s just my gut instinct, but I don’t think so. I do, however, suspect she’s a bit too naive. I don’t know how she was raised so I can’t say for sure, but it’s possible this is the first time she’s had to face anything this serious. I don’t envy her.”

  “If she’s innocent, the evidence will clear her.”

  “Will it?”

  Colt’s jaw muscles clenched, and he took a deep breath of the icy night air. He believed in justice being served by truth. That’s what had happened when his abusive father’s crimes had finally been revealed.

  The problem was timing, he mused. His mother’s hidden grave might have gone undiscovered, and his father might have ended up unpunished, if the right K-9 hadn’t been brought in and found it. If somebody hadn’t gone that extra mile to solve a crime they weren’t even sure existed.

  So what about now? Colt asked himself. Who was going to pursue justice for Brooke? Circumstantial evidence against her was already strong and getting stronger. At this point, all he could hope was that strange fingerprints on the alleged murder weapon would clear her of firing it.

  And if that didn’t happen? It wasn’t up to him to dig deeper into this case, he told himself. His job was to use Sampson to track and find the evidence that others would then put to good use. Right now, his first duty was to his shivering K-9 partner and he took that responsibility very seriously.

  After walking Sampson back to his SUV, he ordered him to jump in, then went to work on the dog’s icy feet and wet legs to dry and warm them while waiting for official release and heading back to the lodge for the night.

  The big dog pressed his forehead against Colt’s shoulder as if silently thanking him for the attention.

  “Yeah, buddy, I’m worn out, too, but I’ll take good care of you, I promise.”

  A solemn question immediately popped into Colt’s mind. Who would be there for Brooke Stevens if the murder weapon was her gun and CSI found her prints on it and she was charged with murder?

  * * *

  Brooke had lost track of time. As the night passed, she was driven out of the park to Ashford and housed in a holding cell while waiting for the results of an expedited DNA test. Once she’d heard that the found gun was hers but that there were no identifiable fingerprints on it she was able to relax a bit.

  It was one thing to know she was innocent and another to be able to prove it. How could she possibly prove a negative other than to provide evidence that she was elsewhere when that man was killed? Could anybody be sure of that timing, sure enough to give her a plausible alibi? She certainly hoped so.

  One thing she did do was give in and ask permission to phone her mother the following morning, though she waited until she assumed her father would have already left for work. Her resolve was strong as she entered an empty holding cell accompanied by a deputy and it held until she heard the familiar voice of her mom. “Brooke, honey! So good to hear from you.”

  Suddenly, she felt like a lost child. Her voice broke when she replied, “I need help, Mom. I’m in trouble.”

  “I’ll go get your father.”

  “No! He’ll just rant and rave and try to bully everybody until they turn against me worse than they already are.”

  “Who’s against you? What’s going on?”

  Brooke settled back on the edge of the cot in her cell and struggled to hold her cell phone steady. “It’s a long story. It might be connected to the murder of a hiker found on a trail in the park last month. He’d been shot.”

  “What? Besides the killing of that lodge owner and her boyfriend?”

  “Yes. The hiker died before them. It was kept hush-hush for the sake of tourism, and we added extra patrols for the safety of park visitors. But that was only the beginning.”

  Except for the occasional gasp or sigh, Brooke’s mother remained quiet for the duration of the tale.

  “So that’s why I’m calling now,” Brooke concluded. “Last night, another body was discovered buried in the snow near my cabin. My gun may have been the murder weapon. And if that’s the case, it may have been used on the first victim, too.”

  “How many times have we told you firearms are dangerous?”

  “I didn’t shoot anybody, Mom. I promise.”

  “Of course, you didn’t, sweetie. We’ll get this straightened out. I’ll contact our family attorneys and have them handle it. Don’t say a word to anyone until you have counsel, hear?”

  “It’s scary. I was expecting the evidence to have cleared me by now and I’m still waiting. I keep imagining the worst.”

  “Are you scared enough to have prayed about it?” her mother asked.