Нора Робертс - Chasing Fire

“Until James Brayner.”

“She zeroed in on him last season, and as far as I know that was a first for her. Look, he was a cute guy, fun, charming. Maybe she fell for him, I don’t know. Dolly and I didn’t share our secrets, hopes and dreams.”

“You’re probably aware by now that we found her car.”

“Yeah, word travels.” She squeezed her eyes shut a moment. “It’s going to be her, when they finish the ID. I know that. You just have to triangulate the town, where you found the car, where I found the remains, and it’s heavy weight on it. I didn’t like her. I didn’t like her a whole bunch of a lot, but she didn’t deserve the way she ended up. Nobody deserves the way she ended up.”

“People are always getting what they don’t deserve. One way or the other. Thanks for the time.”

“When will they know?” she asked when he stood up. “When will they know for sure?”

“Her dentist is local. They’ll verify with her dental records, and should have confirmation later today. It’s not my case, but just out of curiosity, in your opinion, how long would it take to get from the trailhead to where you found the remains, adding in carrying about a hundred and ten pounds, in the dark.”

She got to her feet so they’d be eye to eye. “It depends. It could take an hour. But if you were fit, an experienced hiker, and you knew the area, you could do it in less than half that.”

“Interesting. Thanks again.”

She sat back down when he walked toward Operations, tried to work her mind around the conversation, the information.

And decided, as much as she hated to admit it, maybe L.B. was right. Maybe she did need a breather. So she’d walk down to see her father, touch base with the rest of his crew. The walk might clear her head, and God knew having a little time with her father never hurt.

She went back in for a bottle of water and a ball cap, then crossed paths with Gull as she came back out.

“I saw you with the cop. Do I need to post that bail?”

“Not so far. They found her car, Gull.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“And... there’s other stuff. I have to get my head around it. I’m going to walk down to the school, see my father.”

“Do you want company?”

“I need some solo time.”

He ran his knuckles down her cheek in a casually affectionate gesture that threw her off. “Look me up when you get back.”

“Sure. You’re second load,” she called back as she started the walk. “Idaho might need some Zulies. If you jump, jump good.”

She watched the show as she walked. Planes nosing up; skydivers drifting down. Clouds gathered in the west, hard and white over the mountains. Smaller, she noted, and puffier overhead and north, drifting east on a slow, leisurely sail.

She heard mechanics working in the hangars, the twang of music, the clink of metal, the roll of voices, but didn’t stop as she might have another day. Conversation wasn’t what she was after.

Solo time.

The killer had a car, or truck, she decided. Nobody would’ve carried Dolly from where she’d stopped to where she ended up. Did he kill her when she pulled off 12, dump her body in the trunk of the car, bed of the truck? Or did he give her a ride, maybe park at the trailhead, then do it? Or force her up the trail, then—

Jesus, any way it had happened, she’d ended up dead, and her baby daughter an orphan.

Why had she been heading south on 12, or had she been heading back from farther away? To meet a lover? To meet this theoretical person she’d enlisted to cause trouble? Plenty of motels to choose from. Hard to meet a lover—and Dolly had been famous for using sex as barter—when you lived at home with your parents and your baby.

Why couldn’t she have loved the baby enough to just make a life? To treasure what she had, and put some goddamn effort into being a good mother instead of letting this obsession eat away at her?

All the time she’d spent planning her weird revenge, harboring all that hate, could’ve been spent on living, on nuzzling her baby.

“Oh, mother issues much?” Annoyed with herself, she quickened her pace.

Enough solo time, she decided. Solo time was overrated. She should’ve taken Gull up on his offer to come with her. He’d have distracted her out of this mood, made her laugh, or at least annoyed her so she’d stop feeling sad and angry.

When she moved around the people scattered over the lawn, the picnic tables at her father’s place, she looked up, as they were.

Coming on final, she thought, watching the plane. She crossed to the fence, tucked her hands in her back pockets and decided to enjoy the show. Her smile bloomed as the skydiver jumped—and taking a breather didn’t seem so bad after all. When the second figure leaped out, she settled in, studying their forms on the free fall.

The first, definitely a student, but not bad. Not shabby. Arms out, taking it in. Check out that view! Feel that wind!

And the second... Rowan angled her head, narrowed her eyes. She couldn’t be sure, not yet, but she’d have laid decent money down Iron Man Tripp rocketed down toward the student.

Then came the moment. The chutes deployed, one then two—to applause and cheers—the blue-and-white stripes of the student’s, and the chute she’d designed and rigged for her father’s sixtieth birthday with the boldly lettered IRON MAN in red (his favorite color) over a figure of a smoke jumper.

She loved watching him like this, and always had. Perfect form, she thought, absolute control, riding the air from sky to earth while the sun streamed through those drifting clouds.

She’d been exactly right to come here, she realized, when the world tipped crazily all around her. Here, what she loved held constant. Whatever happened, she could count on him.

She willed the stress of the morning into a corner. She couldn’t dismiss it, but she could shove it back a little and focus on what made her happy.

She’d hang out here with her father for a while, have lunch with him, talk over what was going on. He’d listen, let her spew, and somehow pull her back in, steady her again.

She always thought more clearly, felt less overwhelmed, after a session with her father.

The student handled the drop well, Rowan observed, managed a very decent landing and was up on his—no her, Rowan realized—feet quickly. Then the Iron Man touched down, soft as butter, smooth as silk.

She added her applause to the rest, sent out a high whistle of approval before waving her arms in hopes of snagging her father’s attention.

The student unhooked her harness, pulled off her helmet. Gorgeous red hair seemed to explode in the sunlight. As the woman raced toward her father, Rowan grinned. She understood the exuberance, the charge of excitement, had seen this same scene play out countless times between student and instructor. She continued to grin as the woman leaped into Lucas’s arms, something else she’d seen again and again.

What she hadn’t seen, and what had her grin shifting to a puzzled frown, was her father swinging a student in giddy circles while said student locked her arms around his neck.

And when Lucas “Iron Man” Tripp leaned down and planted a long, very enthusiastic kiss (and the crowd went wild) on the student’s mouth, Rowan’s jaw dropped to the toes of her Nikes.

She would’ve been more shocked if Lucas had pulled out a Luger and shot the redhead between the eyes, but it would’ve been a close call.

The woman had her hands on Lucas’s cheeks, a gesture somehow more intimate than the kiss itself. It spoke of knowledge, familiarity, of privilege.

Who the hell was this bimbo, and when the hell had Iron Man started kissing students? Kissing anyone ?