Murder In Black Canyon. Cindi Myers

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      They walked through the camp, which was as empty and silent as a ghost town, but he sensed people watching him from the windows of trailers and open flaps of tents. “Who did you come here to see?” he asked Kayla. “I know you said a client’s daughter, but who?”

      “I don’t see how that relates to your case.” The frost was back in her voice.

      “You’re the one who reported the body. You were the only non-Family member present when it was discovered. Some people might think that was an interesting coincidence.”

      She turned on him, cheeks flushed. “You don’t think I killed that man!”

      “My job is to rule out everyone. Do you own a gun?”

      “I have a Smith & Wesson 40 back at my office. I have a permit for it.”

      “But you didn’t have it with you today? Why not?”

      “I don’t like to carry a gun. I didn’t think this was a particularly dangerous situation.”

      “Who did you come to see?” he asked again. “I can subpoena your files to find out. Save us both some hassle and just tell me.”

      She hesitated, a deep crease between her brows as she weighed her options. “I came to see Andi Matheson. She calls herself Asteria now. But she doesn’t have anything to do with your case.”

      “You said her father hired you. Who is he?”

      She glared at him.

      “I’ll bet I can find the answer in five minutes or less online.”

      She continued to glare at him, and the intensity of her gaze sent a thrill of awareness through him. Oh, he liked her, all right. Maybe a little too much, considering her involvement in this case.

      “Her father is Senator Peter Matheson,” she said. “I imagine you’ve heard of him.”

      Dylan had heard of the senator, all right. Until recently, he had been in the news primarily for his campaign to disband the Ranger Brigade. He had claimed the task force of federal agents was intrusive, expensive and ineffective. He had succeeded in having the group defunded, only to wind up looking like a fool when the Rangers had brought down a major terrorist group that had been operating in the area. Congress had responded by expanding the group, and Matheson had mostly kept a low profile ever since.

      And now the senator was mixed up with Metwater and his bunch of wanderers. Dylan scanned the silent camp. “How did you track her down here? You said her father didn’t know where she was.”

      “I talked to her friends. Her best friend told me she and Andi had attended a presentation given by Daniel Metwater and Andi had been very attracted to him, and to the ideas he preached. I did some more digging and verified that she had indeed joined up with Metwater and his group.”

      Dylan nodded. Textbook solid detective work. “Let’s have a word with Ms. Matheson. Maybe she knows something she’s not telling about all this.”

      “I really don’t think—” Kayla began.

      But Dylan had already moved to the nearest camper, a battered aqua-and-silver trailer wedged beneath a clump of stunted evergreens. He pounded on the door, shaking the whole structure. “Police! Open up!” he called.

      A woman with a deeply tanned face and bleached hair eased open the door and peered out at them. “I’m looking for Andi Matheson,” Dylan said.

      The woman shook her head. “I don’t know anyone by that name,” she said, and started to close the door.

      “What about Asteria?” Kayla asked. “Where does she live?”

      “Over there.” The woman pointed to a large white tent next to the Prophet’s trailer.

      The tent was the kind used by hunting outfitters as a mess tent or gathering area, with a tall frame and roll-up canvas sides. One of the sides was open to let in the hot breeze. Dylan moved around to the opening and peered in. A blonde woman sat cross-legged on a rug on the floor, eyes closed, hands outstretched.

      “Ms. Matheson?” Dylan asked. “Asteria?”

      She opened her eyes, which were a deep blue. “I was meditating,” she said.

      “Sorry to interrupt, but I have to ask you a few questions.” He took a step toward her. “I’m Lieutenant Dylan Holt, with the Ranger Brigade task force. I wanted to ask you about the body that was brought to your camp earlier today.”

      Andi looked away. “I didn’t see anything. I didn’t want to look. It was horrible.”

      Kayla moved up beside Dylan, her voice gentle. “We don’t want to upset you, Andi,” she said. “We just have a few questions and then we’ll leave you alone.”

      “All right.” She motioned toward the rug across from her. “You might as well sit down.”

      The room was furnished with a cot and several folding camp chairs, but Dylan lowered himself to the rug. The coolness of the earth seeped up through the rug’s pile. Kayla sat beside him. “Tell me what you saw this morning,” he said.

      Andi shrugged. “I didn’t see much. There was shouting, and Abe and Zach came in, dragging something on a tarp. I thought they had killed an animal at first—there was so much blood. Then I saw it was a man and I looked away. I ran back here and hid.” She rubbed her hand across her stomach. “I didn’t want to see any more.”

      “Do you know a man named Frank Asher?” he asked. “He works for the FBI.”

      “Frank?” She stared at him, eyes wide. “What about Frank?”

      “Did you know him?” Dylan asked.

      “No!” She shook her head, hands clutching her skirt. “No,” she repeated in a whisper, even as tears ran down her face.

      “I think you did know him,” Dylan said. “Frank Asher is the man who was killed—the body Zach and Abe found this morning.”

      Andi covered her mouth with her hand. “I told him not to come here,” she said, the words muffled. “I told him not to come and now look what happened.” She collapsed onto the rug and began to sob, the mournful wailing filling the tent and making Dylan’s chest hurt.

       Chapter Four

      Kayla knelt beside Andi, alarmed by the speed at which the beautiful, defiant young woman had dissolved into this wailing heap of grief. “I’m so sorry,” she said, rubbing Andi’s back. “Please sit up and try to calm down.” She looked back over her shoulder at Dylan, who looked as if he wanted to be anyplace but here at this moment. “Would you get her some water?” She pointed toward a large jug that sat on a stand at the back of the tent.

      He retrieved the water and brought it to her. “What was your relationship to Frank Asher?” he asked. “When was the last time you were in contact with him?”

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