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She willed her voice not to crack. “I’m just presenting facts to you, Officer Bentley. Please listen to me.”
He sat back in his chair, the lights accentuating the creases in his forehead. “All right. Let’s say you were pushed. My next question is, who do you know that would like to see you at the bottom of a ravine?”
Isabel swallowed hard. “I—I have an ex-husband named Rawley Pike who believes I wronged him, but he’s in prison in Orange County.”
The officer’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I’ll check on that. Can you tell me the date he was incarcerated?”
She drew in a breath. “August fifth, ten years ago.”
He raised an eyebrow. “And the crime?”
“Dealing drugs. Cocaine and heroin. And he killed a man during a deal that went bad.”
“You turned him in?”
Her skin prickled all over. “Yes, I turned him in.”
“I’ll check on his status.”
And that means he’ll find out everything about you, too. She nodded weakly. “The footprints?”
“As I said, I’ll take a look and if there’s something there, we’ll talk about it more. Right now, I’ve got a meeting.”
He rose and led Isabel to the door.
She wandered out into the blaze of late-morning sun, her stomach still churning. He didn’t believe her and, what was worse, he was now going to look up her whole sordid past. Logan had not returned to the truck. A sign on the building next door revealed it to be the office of Dr. Lunardi, the person who had examined Cassie and pronounced her dead. He’d also helped Isabel make long-distance burial arrangements.
Isabel walked gingerly to the small building. A white-haired receptionist looked up from her keyboard. “May I help you, honey? Did you need to see the doctor?”
She felt suddenly flustered. Why had she come in? Her face flushed and she fought the desire to run out the door again. “Er, yes. I think I sprained my ankle. Could Dr. Lunardi take a look?”
The lady consulted the computer screen. “He’s got a few minutes. Come on back.”
She led Isabel to an examining room and went to fetch the doctor. A short while later Dr. Lunardi appeared, a small man with the dome of his head shining and smooth and a fringe of neatly trimmed black hair in a semicircle around his scalp.
“Hello, Dr. Lunardi. I’m Cassie Reynolds’s sister. You were so kind to help me make arrangements for her.”
He dropped his pen and bent to pick it up. “Ms. Ling. I didn’t realize you were her sister, with the different last names.”
“I took my mother’s maiden name.”
He fiddled with some papers on a clipboard. “Should have seen the resemblance. I was happy to help you with your sister. I can point you to the right people to plan a memorial service, too, if you wish.”
“I would like that very much.”
“Wanda says you’ve had a tumble. May I take a look?” He busied himself prodding her ankle.
“Dr. Lunardi, I wondered if you could tell me about Cassie, when they brought her in. John Trigg found her, didn’t he?”
The doctor nodded, but didn’t look up. “Yes, John called the rescue squad and they transported her here because…” He cleared his throat. “Well, I’m sorry to say it, Ms. Ling, but there was no hope of resuscitation. I pronounced her dead.”
“From the head trauma?”
“Yes.”
Isabel turned the thought over in her mind. “Was there anything unusual about it? Anything that struck you as odd about my sister’s injuries?”
“What?” He blinked. “No, not unusual. Why would you ask such a thing?”
Isabel sighed. “I wondered if there was something that I don’t know about.”
He stiffened. “Your sister was thrown by a horse and died of head injuries sustained in that process. That’s all there is.” He pointed to her ankle. “It doesn’t appear to be broken or fractured. Continue to ice and keep the Ace bandage on to help you get along until the bruising heals. If it’s not better in a few days, come back. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have other patients. No charge for the visit today. Welcome to town, Ms. Ling.”
He hurried out of the room.
She rewrapped her ankle with the bandage and left the exam room. Wanda was not at her station and there was no sign of the doctor. The heat enveloped her immediately as she left the air-conditioning behind. Across the street, a cool spot of wooded green beckoned her. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to face it, but she knew she had to try.
Heart pounding, she made her way to the cemetery.
Cassie was buried here, the arrangements made long-distance as Isabel had struggled to scrape up enough money to fly here to South Dakota. Somehow she would have to come up with the cash to pay the bills when her credit card came due and to plan a beautiful memorial service for her sister.
There would be flowers and sweet music and someone to sing the old hymns like their mother had done when they were children.
Tears pricked her eyes as she entered the cemetery. Trees shrouded it from the road and the quiet was broken only by the twitter of birds. The headstones were well tended, the grass trimmed and many were dotted with small tokens or flowers from loved ones. Isabel walked slowly until she found her sister’s grave.
Cassie Reynolds.
Child of God.
What things would she have had written on the stone if she had known her sister better? Lover of horses? Willing servant who cared for their abusive father? But maybe willing wasn’t the right word. Cassie took on the role because Isabel had run, abandoned her family and left it all behind for her sister to deal with after that final, awful confrontation with their father.
The tears left hot trails down her cheeks.
“I’m so sorry, Cassie. I was weak and selfish and I waited too long.” She ran a hand over the grass that surrounded the stone. “Why didn’t I reach out earlier?” It was a question she had asked God almost continually since she had gotten the phone call three weeks prior. The grief squeezed her heart so hard she thought it would stop beating. “I wasn’t there to help when you needed me. I wasn’t even there to bury you properly. I’m so sorry.”
Sitting under the trees, alone with her sister, she let the sadness flow.
It could have been a few seconds or many minutes before the sound sank into her consciousness. An eerie, familiar tune that took her a few moments to place.
“The dear old flag…”
It was the strange song she’d heard right before someone had pushed her into the ravine. She leaped to her feet, whirling around. The song continued in soft, low tones.
She backed up against a wide pine and scanned wildly for the singer.
Finally she spotted him, standing in the shadows, leaning against a headstone. He was thin, dressed in brown pants and a tunic, slouch hat over his long reddish-blond hair. His eyes were pale, icy and metallic, as he stared at her.
Her mouth went dry and she could not force out a word. Her gaze slid down to his feet. Cowboy boots.
With a graceful gesture, he tipped his hat and gave her a wicked smile. “Afternoon, Isabel.”
Logan didn’t see Isabel at the truck, so he stopped in the grocery store. He didn’t need anything in particular, just killing time, but he came out with a bag nonetheless. Tank got up from his spot in the shade and greeted his owner with typical canine enthusiasm. Logan gave him a scratch behind the ears and loaded the supplies into the truck.
Still no Isabel.
He scanned every inch of the sun-soaked street. If she was still in with the police, he decided, things must not be going well. It wouldn’t hurt to drop in and check. He was headed in back toward the station when he heard the scream.
He took off at a dead sprint for the direction of the cry; the cemetery. Tank raced along beside him, matching him stride for stride. His mind took note of certain facts as his body hurtled along. Unfenced area. Cover from trees and shrubs. Plenty of places to take a shot, hide an assailant, conceal a body.
He gritted his teeth and crouched as he ran through the entrance, staying low, his route zigzagging as he scanned for any sight of her, or signs that there had been a struggle. He stopped to listen, sweat beading on his face.
Tank gave him a questioning look.
He quieted his breathing and listened again. This time Tank took off on his own, darting from headstone to headstone, moving steadily up the slope.
Logan ran after the dog until he heard it. The tiniest of noises, a shuddering hiccup. He headed for the sound, body still low, feet soundless as he could make them. It took him only a moment to find her.
Isabel was crouched in a ball behind a gravestone, her face stricken with terror.
When Tank bounded up, Logan commanded him to sit.
“Isabel.” He reached out a hand to her and she jerked back violently, breath heaving, eyes unfocused.
“Don’t touch me,” she hissed.
He knelt next to her. “It’s okay. It’s Logan. Remember me? Logan Price. I drove you up here.”
Her face was blank, frozen in fear by whatever had caused her scream. He called Tank to his side. “Remember my dog, Tank? He’s been looking for you.”
When Logan released him, Tank trotted up to Isabel and licked her face. She jerked at first and then wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him close, her fingers clinging to his black fur.
Logan stayed quiet for a moment, letting the dog ease Isabel out of her shock. Very slowly he laid his hand on her forearm. “Can you talk now?”
She looked at him for a long time before she blinked, rubbed the back of her hand over her eyes and nodded, all the while keeping one arm around the dog.
“I heard you scream. What happened?”
She tried several times before the words came out. “It was the man, the one who pushed me into the ravine. I came to visit Cassie’s grave and he was here, watching me.”
Logan frowned. “How do you know it was the same man?”
Her eyes brimmed with tears. “That awful song. He sang the same song.”
He kept his voice soft and gentle. “Did he touch you? Hurt you?”
She started to tremble. “No. He just watched me. Watched me run and fall and get up and run again. He just watched me. And…”
“And what?”
Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Logan, he knew my name.”
He squeezed her forearm, wishing he could force the fear out of her. “Stay here. I’m going to check around.”
She looked panicked, so he added quickly, “Tank will stay with you. No one will touch you when he’s on duty.” He ordered the dog to stay and moved away.
He did a quick perimeter check and worked his way inward in ever-diminishing circles until he rejoined Isabel. “No trace of anyone.”
She was calmer now, but her voice still held an edge of panic. “He was here. I saw him. Leaning right against that tree. I’m not making it up.”
Logan reached out a hand to her and, after a moment of indecision, she took it.
“We’re going to go back to the police station, and this time, I’m staying with you.”
FOUR
Isabel hardly registered the walk as Logan took her by the arm and guided her back to the police station. She expected to see the leering face of the crazy man from the cemetery behind each tree and bush. All of her nerves were alive with residual fear. When she recoiled at the snap of a branch, Logan kept her moving forward. He was outwardly calm, but she could tell he was monitoring the surroundings as they made their way to the station.
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.
