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Cold Conspiracy
Cindi Myers
The body count is mounting…And he’s the killer’s next target. Deputy Jamie Douglas and lawman Nate Hall are determined to capture the Ice Cold Killer. But a blizzard ravages their town, keeping everyone snowed in with this chilling killer. Can Jamie and Nate get to the truth before more innocent people wind up dead?
The body count is mounting.
And a deputy is the killer’s next target.
Capturing the Ice Cold Killer is the greatest challenge Eagle Mountain has ever seen. Thankfully, Deputy Jamie Douglas is determined to see justice done. Nate Hall is visiting for a wedding, and the vacationing lawman is more than willing to help. As a blizzard ravages the town, keeping everyone trapped with a killer, evidence begins to accumulate about a mysterious conspiracy. Can Jamie and Nate get to the truth before more innocent people wind up dead?
CINDI MYERS is the author of more than fifty novels. When she’s not crafting new romance plots, she enjoys skiing, gardening, cooking, crafting and daydreaming. A lover of small-town life, she lives with her husband and two spoiled dogs in the Colorado mountains.
Also by Cindi Myers (#u0ad51da8-d660-55ec-81d9-afc0a55bc029)
Ice Cold Killer
Snowbound Suspicion
Saved by the Sheriff
Avalanche of Trouble
Deputy Defender
Danger on Dakota Ridge
Murder in Black Canyon
Undercover Husband
Manhunt on Mystic Mesa
Soldier’s Promise
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Cold Conspiracy
Cindi Myers
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09440-5
COLD CONSPIRACY
© 2019 Cynthia Myers
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
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To the ladies of GJWW.
Contents
Cover (#uf7c9618e-68b6-591f-9389-7a0a7b0d21bf)
Back Cover Text (#u76a0d7b8-a395-52cc-b2c9-ea90ed705229)
About the Author (#ucb0231d3-8ca6-522f-9c15-8a6624dafcd6)
Booklist (#u6d62ec96-6fe3-54fd-8e4a-e663a968f40f)
Title Page (#u26802ff5-f1c5-5b05-a4ab-dd7f144fca23)
Copyright (#u1a10264f-f4a9-5bb2-b9c8-687120b769cb)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#udc291b09-cf9c-5949-8100-72af72e12acf)
Chapter One (#uc59d8338-9145-59f3-a2a3-27db50c6a047)
Chapter Two (#u2e48e15d-b060-5518-8bfa-94a0fc4199fa)
Chapter Three (#uaab85155-6c6b-59f0-946e-f7f0034b5d9c)
Chapter Four (#u2e18eb27-b94c-574c-ac00-f9192444e8ff)
Chapter Five (#uced1351c-cbba-548c-b58e-323e856b481e)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u0ad51da8-d660-55ec-81d9-afc0a55bc029)
“Come on, Donna. We need to head back to the house or I’ll be late for work.” Rayford County Sheriff’s Deputy Jamie Douglas turned to look back at her nineteen-year-old sister, Donna, who was plodding up the forest trail in snowshoes. Short and plump, her brown curls like a halo peeking out from beneath her pink knit cap, cheeks rosy from the cold, Donna reminded Jamie of the Hummel figurines their grandmother had collected. On a Monday morning in mid-January, the two sisters had the forest to themselves, and Jamie had been happy to take advantage of a break in the weather to get outside and enjoy some exercise. But now that she needed to get home, Donna was in no rush, stopping to study a clump of snow on a tree branch alongside the trail, or laughing at the antics of Cheyenne, one of their three dogs. The twenty-pound terrier-Pomeranian mix was the smallest and easiest to handle of the canines, so Donna had charge of him. Jamie had a firm hold on the leashes for the other two—a Siberian husky named Targa, and a blond Lab mix, Cookie. “Donna!” Jamie called again, insistent.
Donna looked up, her knit cap slipping over one eye. “I’m coming!” she called, breaking into a clumsy jog.
“Don’t run. You’ll fall and hurt yourself.” Jamie started back toward her sister, but had taken only a few steps when Donna tripped and went sprawling.
“Oh!” It was Jamie’s turn to run—not an easy feat in snowshoes, though she managed to reach Donna’s side quickly. “Are you okay?”
Donna looked up, tears streaming down her plump cheeks. “I’m all wet,” she sniffed.
“Come on, let’s get you up.” Jamie took her sister’s arm. “It’s not far to the car.” Though Down syndrome had delayed her development, Donna was only a few inches shorter than Jamie and outweighed her by twenty pounds. Getting her to her feet while both women were wearing snowshoes made for a clumsy undertaking. Add in three romping dogs, and by the time Donna was upright, both sisters were tired and damp.
Once she was assured Donna would stay on her feet, Jamie took charge of Cheyenne, adjusting her grip on all three leashes. But just then, something crashed through the undergrowth to their left. Barking and lunging, Targa tore from her grasp, quickly followed by Cookie and Cheyenne. All three dogs took off across the snow, on the trail of the mule deer buck who was bounding through the forest.
“A deer!” Donna clapped her hands. “Did you see him run?”
“Targa! Cookie! Come here!” Jamie called after the dogs, even as the clamor of their barking receded into the woods. Silently cursing her bad luck, she slipped off her pack and dropped it at Donna’s feet. “Stay here,” she ordered. “I’m going after the dogs.”
Running in snowshoes was probably like dancing in clown shoes, Jamie thought as she navigated through the thick undergrowth. She could still hear the dogs—that was good. “Targa, come!” she shouted. She needed to find the dogs soon. Otherwise, she’d be showing up late for the mandatory meeting Sheriff Travis Walker had called, and she hated to think what he would have to say. As the department’s newest deputy, she couldn’t count on him cutting her much slack.
The dogs’ tracks were easy to follow through the snow, which was churned up by their running paws. Here and there she spotted the imprints of the deer, too. She replayed the sight of the big animal crashing out of the woods toward them. What had made the buck run that way—before the dogs had even seen it? Was a mountain lion stalking the animal?
Fighting back a shiver of fear, she scanned the forest surrounding her. She saw nothing, but she couldn’t shake a feeling of uneasiness—as if she really was being watched.
She crashed through the underbrush and emerged in a small clearing. The dogs were on the other side, all wagging tails and happy grins as they gathered around a man on snowshoes, who scowled at the three of them. Jamie’s heart sank when she recognized the uniform of a wildlife officer—what some people called a game warden. He looked up at her approach. “Are these your dogs?” he asked.
“Yes, Nate. They’re my dogs.” She crossed the clearing to him and gathered up the leashes. Worse even than having her dogs caught in the act of breaking the law by a wildlife officer was being caught by Nate Hall. The big blond outdoorsman managed to look like a conquering Viking, even in his khaki uniform, though Jamie could remember when he had been a gawky boy. The two of them had been pretty successfully avoiding each other since he had moved back to Eagle Mountain four months ago, after an absence of seven years. “My sister fell and I was helping her up when they got away from me,” Jamie said.
“Jamie, you ought to know better,” Nate said. “The deer and elk are already stressed this winter, with the deep snow. Allowing dogs to chase them stresses them further and could even result in their death.”
What made him think he had the right to lecture her? “I didn’t allow the dogs to chase the deer,” she said. “It was an accident.” She glared down at the three dogs, who now sat at her feet, tongues lolling, the pictures of innocence.
“Hello!” They both turned to see Donna tromping toward them. She towed Jamie’s pack behind her, dragging it through the snow by its strap.
“Donna, you were supposed to wait for me,” Jamie said.
“I wanted to see what you were doing.” Donna stopped, dropped the pack and turned to Nate. “Hello. I’m Donna. I’m Jamie’s sister.”
“Hello, Donna,” Nate said. His gaze swept over Donna, assessing her. “Your sister said you fell. Are you okay?”
“Just wet.” Donna looked down at the damp knees of her snow pants.
“We really need to be going.” Jamie picked up her pack with one hand, while holding all three leashes in the other. “I have to get to work.”
“Let me take the dogs.” Not waiting for her reply, Nate stepped forward and took the leashes. She started to argue, then thought better of it. If the dogs got away from him, maybe he wouldn’t be so quick to blame her.
“Nice day for snowshoeing,” he said as he fell into step beside Jamie, Donna close behind.
She didn’t really want to make small talk with him. The last real conversation they had had—seven years ago—had not been a pleasant one. Though she didn’t remember much of anything either of them had said, she remembered the pain behind their words. The hurt had faded, leaving an unsettled feeling in its place.
The dogs trotted along like obedience school protégés. When Targa tried to pull on the leash, Nate reined her in with a firm “No!” and she meekly obeyed—something she never did for Jamie. Apparently, muscles and a deep, velvety voice worked to impress female canines, too.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Donna said. “It’s supposed to be Jamie’s day off, but now she has to go to work.”
“Something come up?” he asked. His gray eyes met hers, clearly telegraphing the question he didn’t want to voice in front of Donna—Any more murders? Over the past three weeks, a serial killer had taken the lives of five local women. Dubbed the Ice Cold Killer, because of the calling cards he left behind with the words Ice Cold printed on them, the serial murderer had eluded all attempts by local law enforcement to track him down. Heavy snow and avalanches that closed the only road out of town for weeks at a time had further hampered the investigation.
“Nothing new,” Jamie said. “The sheriff has called a meeting to go over everything we know so far.”
Nate nodded and faced forward again. “When I moved back to town I was surprised to find out you were a sheriff’s deputy,” he said. “I never knew you were interested in law enforcement.”
