Dana Mentink - Betrayal in the Badlands

The only thing that kept her moving was the pressure of his strong hand holding hers and an occasional nudge from Tank’s wet nose. Some distant part of her mind questioned Logan’s concern. He was a stranger, looking to finish work on her sister’s ranch. She didn’t know a thing about him, really.

Except that he’d climbed down a cliff to get her.

And shown up at the sound of her scream.

She tried to see some sign of his feelings on his face, but there was only a look of concentration there, a man doing his job.

What was Logan’s job, anyway? The Triggs indicated he was military, but he’d had time to do construction work for Cassie and come to her aid twice. Was he home on leave?

In a few minutes she found herself sitting in Officer Bentley’s office again, facing his disbelieving stare. If Logan hadn’t been standing next to her, she would have run for the door.

The officer looked at Logan before he gestured for Isabel to talk.

“I went to the cemetery and…” Fear closed over her again, her throat thick with tears. It was the same terrible fear she’d tried to put behind her since she’d sent her ex-husband to jail. She’d kept it tamped down, rolled into a dark corner of her heart, but it was back again, a jagged emotion that cut through her insides.

Logan finished the story as best he could.

Officer Bentley made more notes. “Did you see the guy, Logan?”

“No.”

He turned back to Isabel. “Could you identify the man if you saw his picture?”

She nodded. “I think so.”

He led her to a sparse room with an older model computer.

“Probably got a faster way to do this back in L.A.” He asked Isabel for a basic description of the man—race, age range—and pulled up a series of pictures on the screen. “Start here and keep going until you find a match or run out of pictures.”

She thought there was a hint of derision in his voice as she took her place at the computer. Logan sat down next to her.

Bentley switched on a fan, which turned feebly in the stuffy air. “I’m going to check out the cemetery. I’ll be back shortly.”

The door swung closed behind him with a sharp bang.

Isabel looked at Logan. “He thinks I’m making this all up.”

Logan sighed. “Maybe, but he’s a good enough cop to check things out anyway.”

“Do you think that, too? That I’m making it up?”

His green eyes bored into hers. “I believe you were honestly terrified in that cemetery. I also think that’s not an unfamiliar feeling to you.”

Her cheeks warmed. “So you wonder if I might have dreamed up this guy because I’ve been in bad situations before?”

“You didn’t imagine the footprint next to the ravine. I saw those myself.”

She tried to read the feeling under his words. Skeptical, yes, but not dismissive. And for some unknown reason, he was doing his best to help her out. She couldn’t figure out a logical motive, so she applied herself to scrutinizing each picture. An hour later, she’d only made it through a couple hundred mug shots.

“This is taking forever.” She looked around and found a notepad by the phone, along with the stub of a pencil. She sketched quickly until she got the essence of the man who had terrorized her. Long, thin face, pale skin, gray-blue eyes, long, reddish hair and the faintest hint of a goatee on his chin, a felt hat pulled down over the forehead.

Logan watched over her shoulder as she drew, his hard shoulder touching hers. Pulse quickening, she handed the sketch to him.

He whistled. “You are one talented artist.”

She felt her face warm again. “A hobby of mine, since I was a child. That’s the guy.”

He sat down again. “He looks like some kind of soldier from the past.”

A shock went through her and she gasped. “That’s it.”

“What?”

“The song. He was singing a song about a wounded drummer and the flag. It made me think of an old soldier of some sort.”

Logan looked closer at her sketch. “This man isn’t old enough to have fought in anything but maybe Desert Storm and Iraq. Let me make a copy of this and we’ll leave one with Bentley. With your permission, I’d like to send this along to a friend of mine. He may be able to help us ID the guy.”

She nodded and turned back to the pictures as the song played in her mind.

Logan drummed his fingers on the steering wheel as he drove back to Cassie’s ranch. Bentley hadn’t returned to the station before they’d left, but another cop had been there to take the sketch. No one in the database matched Isabel’s description of the man. “I’m sure the guy’s gone, but maybe you should consider staying in a hotel in town. Just for a few days.”

Isabel shot him a frightened look, then raised her chin, brushing the long strands of black hair out of her face. Her voice was soft but determined. “Thank you, but I’m going to stay at my sister’s ranch.”

He eyed the worn patch on the knee of her jeans. “If it’s a matter of cost, I could…”

She cut him off. “No. Thank you, I’ll be fine.”

He’d offended her. Even though his offer was meant to be helpful and it was the most logical solution, she was annoyed. He wanted to apologize, but he didn’t. Talking just made things worse, started arguments, raised the level of conflict. Things were so much easier in pararescue. You went in. You saved people and hopefully didn’t get killed in the process. Not one of his saves had ever objected to his methods. He sighed.

You’re not a pararescueman anymore, Logan. You’re a regular guy who doesn’t understand women. Welcome to the club.

They drove by a group of workmen erecting a section of raised bleachers on the sidewalk.

Isabel watched the progress as they passed, stroking Tank’s head where he’d shoved it through the small cab window into the front seat. “What’s going on?”

He was relieved to have the silence broken. “Getting ready for the Moonlight Ride. It’s a big event to fund the horse rescue efforts in and around this town. They start with a parade and end with a night ride through the Badlands. Your sister…” He knew as soon as he said it, it was another stupid topic. Bring up the girl’s dead sister? Great, Logan. “Lots of locals help out with the festivities.”

Isabel peeked around Tank’s head. “Was Cassie going to be a part of the event?”

He sighed. “Yes. She was working with some of her horses, getting them in shape to take participants on the ride. She was passionate about her rescue work, but you know that already, I’m sure.”

Isabel ducked her head and stared at her hands. “Yes.”

He tried to keep the conversation going. “John was helping her acclimate the horses to the saddle. They’d ride together at night sometimes.”

Isabel’s head jerked up. “Was he with her when she died?”

“No. She took a horse out on her own. Seemed to be heading for the Badlands when she was thrown. John found her when he came to the ranch the next day before sunup and discovered Cassie and Big Blue were gone.” He shifted. “Listen, I’m sorry to bring up your sister. I know it’s painful for you.”

She shook her head. “It’s okay. I want to know everything about my sister’s life.”

And her death? Logan had thought the circumstances of Cassie’s last night were strange, but he had dismissed it, until Isabel had come into town. The two encounters with the singing stranger almost convinced him something might be suspicious after all about Cassie’s death. But maybe the strange events had more to do with Isabel’s past than the present. He looked at her profile, the dark hair like a shadow against her porcelain skin, the delicate almond shape of her eyes that spoke of an Asian ancestor. He wondered if anything would ever erase the fear that he’d seen on her face in the cemetery, the way she’d pulled from his touch as if his fingers burned her skin. Who had hurt this woman? And why did the thought of it make him grind his teeth?