Army Ranger Redemption. Carol EricsonЧитать онлайн книгу.
to work, not to get all plugged in.”
“After what just happened out there—” he jerked his thumb over his shoulder “—you need to think about your safety.”
She widened her eyes. “Why? Do you think there’s a serial killer on the loose or something? I’m not happy that someone died outside my cabin, but I don’t think it has anything to do with me. From the looks of the guy, it could’ve been a bar fight or drug related.”
Jim straightened up so fast from where he’d been bent over looking for a phone jack, he almost hit his head on the bottom of the cabinet.
“Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know. He looked a little rough around the edges, could’ve been using.”
“The point is, we don’t know his story.” He limped from the kitchen and tipped his chin toward the short hallway. “Okay if I take a look in the other rooms?”
“There are just the two bedrooms. You already visited the one bathroom, and then the room at the end of the hall—my studio.”
He pushed into the bathroom and placed his palms flat against the small, beveled-glass window. “Someone can slide this up and out. You can buy a rod to put across the top of the slider to prevent that, or you can even use a pencil.”
“Good idea. I never realized how unsafe I was before.”
“You never found a dead body on your property before—have you?”
“That was a first, although I guess it’s not all that rare for Timberline cabins to be housing dead bodies. Did you hear about Jordan Young killing his mistress twenty-five years ago and stuffing her body in the chimney of his cabin?” She sucked in a breath between her teeth and shivered.
“I read about the whole thing online when I got here. So much for peaceful little Timberline.”
He checked the windows in the guest bedroom, and then she led him to her own room. As he took a turn around the bedroom, she actually blushed—not out of modesty but because she’d just had a sudden vision of this man spread out on her bed.
“You should keep these closed at night.” He yanked the curtains together and she jumped. “Are you still nervous?”
“It’s not every day someone is murdered in your neighborhood.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. She should be feeling more anxious about that instead of daydreaming about Jim Kennedy in all his naked glory. She’d put it down to shock.
He tilted his head and that lock of dark hair fell over one eye—just like in high school. “Let’s take a look at that back door.”
As she led him to her studio, she clasped her hands in front of her, twirling her ring around her middle finger. She usually didn’t invite people into her inner sanctum, unless they were other artists. Not even potential clients saw her workspace.
Dragging in a breath, she threw open the door and flicked on the light.
Jim froze at the doorway, his mouth hanging slightly ajar. “I’ve never seen anything like this before in my life.”
“Well—” she waved her arms around “—it’s an artist’s studio.”
“You’re very...productive.” He swiveled his head from side to side, taking in the work on the walls, canvases stacked in the corner and unfinished pieces languishing on easels stationed around the room. “And kind of schizophrenic.”
“I guess that’s one way of putting it.”
“You’ve got normal stuff over here—” he flung out his right arm “—and...different kind of stuff over here.”
“Landscape watercolors on the right and modern, abstract oils on the left.”
“Let me guess.” He pointed to a painting comprising of skyscrapers, a pair of eyes and a wolf head. “This is the expensive stuff.”
“Good guess.” She held her breath waiting for him to ask her to explain the painting.
He studied it for several seconds with his head to one side and then shrugged. “This room isn’t secure at all.”
She released the breath. “Because of the glass wall.”
“It must look incredible during the day, but at night anybody could peer right into this room. If you keep expensive work in here, I’d think you’d want to protect it better.”
“This is Timberline. I really didn’t expect to move back here and experience a crime wave.” She rapped on the glass. “What do you suggest?”
“This is the back door?” He navigated through the easels and stands and yanked on the handle of the sliding glass door. He crouched down and inspected the track. “You can put a rod in here for an extra measure of safety in case someone breaks the lock. A camera wouldn’t be a bad idea, either.”
Twisting her braid around her hand, she sighed. “I might as well go back to the big city.”
“That man who died tonight probably has nothing to do with you.”
“Don’t try to make me feel better now after you just did a security check on my home...and found it woefully inadequate.”
“Problem is, we don’t know what he was doing out there, why he was killed or who killed him.”
He straightened up, grasping the door handle for support. She would’ve offered a hand, but Jim didn’t seem like the type of man who would accept assistance easily.
“Hopefully the county sheriff’s department can figure that out. I don’t need any more people lurking around my cabin, causing trouble.”
“Jordan Young was after that TV reporter, not you, right?”
“Jordan turned out to be Beth St. Regis’s biological father. He’d murdered her mother, his mistress, twenty-five years ago and sold Beth on the black market when she was a baby. He just turned his attentions toward me because I was helping Beth.” She shivered and pressed her hands against her stomach. “Pure evil.”
“He figured if anyone noticed his daughter’s disappearance, he could pass it off as another Timberline kidnapping?”
“Something like that, but nobody noticed the disappearance of mother and daughter since Beth’s mother had moved away after the pregnancy and had just returned to Timberline. Young had kept them hidden away in his cabin until he killed Angie, Beth’s mother.”
“Makes you wonder.” He shoved one hand in his pocket and stared out the wall of windows at the forest lurking in the darkness beyond.
“Wonder what?”
“If there was an active black market for children, maybe that’s what happened to the Timberline Trio.”
“Not you, too.” She shut off the light in the studio. “Ever since Wyatt Carson kidnapped those three children to recreate the Timberline Trio so he could play the hero, everyone and his brother have been snooping around looking into the Timberline Trio case.”
“You think that’s a bad idea?” He’d turned from the window and his eyes glimmered in the dark room.
“It’s over.” She’d never admit to him that she had her own reasons for finding out what had happened twenty-five years ago. She’d never admit that to anyone, since curiosity about the case seemed to put a target on your back.
He said, “I suppose it’s never over for the families. Look what it did to Wyatt Carson. Losing his younger brother like that must’ve jarred something loose in his psyche for him to go on and kidnap those children years later.”
“You’re right.” She stepped back into the light from the hallway. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but...”
“You’re