The Guardian. Cindi Myers

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СКАЧАТЬ someone would explain this mystery to the new guy; if not, he’d find out what he needed to know on his own.

      “Richard Prentice owns the land here.” Graham pointed to a white square closest to the park—almost on the canyon rim. “He’s built a compound there with several houses, stables, a gated entrance, et cetera.”

      “But before that, he tried to blackmail the government into buying the place at an exorbitant price,” Carmen said. “He threatened to build this giant triple-X theater with huge neon signs practically at the park entrance.” Her lip curled in disgust.

      “He’s had success with those kinds of tactics before,” Graham said. “He threatened to blow up a historic building over near Ouray until a conservation group raised the money to buy the place from him.”

      “At an inflated price,” Carmen said. “That’s how he operates. If he can figure out a way to exploit a situation for money, he will.”

      “But the government didn’t bite this time?” Michael asked.

      “No,” Lance said. “And the county fought back by passing an ordinance prohibiting sexually oriented businesses. He built a mansion instead, and spends his time filing harassment complaints every time we drive by or fly over.”

      “So do we think he has anything to do with the crime wave around here?” Michael asked. Greed and a lust for power were motivation enough for all manner of misdeeds.

      Graham shook his head. “Prentice likes to thumb his nose at the government, but we have no reason to suspect he’s guilty of any felonies.”

      “Which doesn’t mean he isn’t guilty,” Carmen said. “Just that we can’t prove it—yet.”

      Michael studied the map again. First chance he got, he’d check out this Prentice guy.

      “Next on the list.” Graham scanned the clipboard again, but before he could continue, a knock sounded on the door.

      “Come in,” Graham called.

      The door opened and a woman stood on the threshold, eyes wide with surprise. A fall of long honey-blond hair obscured most of her face, but she appeared young, and pretty, with dark eyes and a well-shaped nose and chin. She wore canvas cargo pants, hiking boots and a long-sleeved canvas shirt, open at the throat to reveal a black tank top trimmed in lace, and a hint of tanned cleavage. Michael’s gaze locked on the holstered weapon at her side—a .40-caliber Sig Sauer. He had one like it at his hip. So was she some kind of law enforcement? A new member of the team no one had mentioned?

      “I, uh, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” she said. “I was looking for the park rangers. Their office was closed, and I saw the cars over here...”

      “The park rangers go home at four,” Graham said. “They’ll be in at nine in the morning if you need help with camping permits or something.”

      Her eyes narrowed, focused on the tan uniforms, then on the name badge pinned to Graham’s shirt pocket. “Captain Ellison. Are you a law enforcement officer?”

      “Yes. Can I help you?”

      She pressed her lips together, as if debating her next move, then nodded. “I need to report a crime. A murder.”

      The temperature in the room dropped several degrees, Michael was sure, and the group around the table leaned forward, all eyes—including the dog’s—focused on the petite woman in the doorway.

      “Why don’t you come in and give us a few more details.” Graham motioned the woman forward.

      As she moved past him, Michael caught the scents of wood smoke and sweat and something lighter and more feminine—a floral perfume or shampoo. An awareness stirred in his gut, a sense of familiarity, and the hair rose on the back of his neck. Where had he seen this woman before?

      “I’m a biologist,” she said, speaking primarily to Graham, but casting nervous glances at the rest of them. “Or rather, I’m working on my master’s degree in biology. I’m studying several plant species found in the park for my thesis. I was out collecting specimens this morning when I heard people approaching. They were shouting in English and in Spanish, and they appeared to be searching for someone.”

      “Did you get close to them?” Simon asked. “Did you talk to them?”

      She shook her head. As she did so, her hair swung away from her face, revealing a jagged scar diagonally bisecting one cheek. The scar was bizarrely out of place on such a beautiful face, like a crack in an otherwise pristine china plate. Michael’s gut tightened, and he struggled to control his breathing. He was sure he knew her now, but maybe his mind was playing tricks on him. Post-traumatic stress throwing up some new, bizarre symptom.

      “They were some distance away—maybe two hundred yards,” she continued. “I hid behind a large boulder and waited for them to leave.”

      “Why did you do that?” Simon asked.

      “Because she’s smart,” Carmen said. “A woman alone in the middle of nowhere sees a group of rowdy men? Of course she hides.”

      Simon flushed, like a kid who’s been reprimanded. “She looks as though she can take care of herself.” He nodded to the weapon at her side. “You got a permit for that thing?”

      “Yes.” She turned away from him. “I couldn’t see what they were doing—the terrain is rough out there. But I heard gunshots. Then they quieted down and left.”

      “You’re sure they were gunshots?” Graham asked.

      She nodded. “I was in the army, stationed in Kandahar. I know what gunfire sounds like. This was a semiautomatic. A rifle, not a handgun.”

      Michael gripped the underside of the conference table until his fingers ached. This was no trick of a war-stressed mind. This was her—the woman who’d lingered in the back of his mind for the better part of five years. The one he could never forget.

      “All right.” Graham leaned against the table, his pose deceptively casual. “What happened next?”

      “I waited ten minutes to make sure they were gone, then I resumed collecting the specimens I’d come for. I headed back toward the road where I’d parked my car. I had walked less than half a mile when I stumbled over something.” Her face paled and she swallowed hard, her lips pressed tightly together, holding in emotion. “It was a body,” she said softly. Then, in a stronger voice, “A young man. Latino. He’d been shot in the chest.”

      “He was dead?” Randall asked.

      “Oh, yes. But not for long. The body was still warm.”

      “So you think the men you heard shot him.” Simon couldn’t keep quiet long. Clearly, he liked playing the role of interrogator.

      “It’s your job to decide that, not mine,” the woman said, a sharp edge to her voice. Good for her, Michael thought. Put Simon in his place.

      “Can you show us where the body is?” Graham asked.

      She nodded. “I think so. I was collecting specimens near there and I made note of the GPS coordinates. I should have noted the coordinates for the СКАЧАТЬ