Ghost Canyon (The John Decker Supernatural Thriller Series Book 7) Anthony Strong (popular romance novels .TXT) 📖

When they were done, Robyn stood up. “If the pair of you are hungry, I still have some food left over from dinner in the kitchen. It’s not fancy. Just chicken salad, you’re welcome to it.”

“That’s mighty nice of you,” Barnes said. “But we stopped and ate on the way back.”

Robyn nodded. “Are we going to be safe tonight? Agent Fowler said two more people died. It sounds dreadful.”

“I wouldn’t worry yourself,” Decker said. “The mine is secure. Whatever is inside, can’t escape now.”

“That makes me feel a better,” Robyn said. “I still don’t like the thought of that creature living in my mine. Have you figured out how to stop it yet?”

“No,” Decker admitted. He still wasn’t sure what the creature was, let alone if it could be vanquished. “My primary concern right now is making sure no one else gets hurt.”

“Of course.”

“As soon as we have a solution, you’ll be the first to know.” Decker glanced around. “Where’s Carlton?”

“Beats me,” Robyn replied. “He keeps to himself unless he’s in here drinking. He’s probably in that falling down cabin of his.”

“I’m not sure him being there is a good idea,” Decker said. “I’m pretty confident that we’re safe here in town, but I would feel better if everyone were in one location given the circumstances. I know the two of you don’t get on very well, but it might be for the best if he stayed in the hotel until we resolve this situation.”

“He won’t do that. I’ve already tried. When Special Agent Fowler first told me what was going on, I told Carlton he could stay here. He declined, in no uncertain terms.”

“He wasn’t friendly about it either,” Fowler said. “It’s a good job he lives alone out in the middle of nowhere, because he wouldn’t last ten minutes if he had to interact with folk on a regular basis. He’s not what you’d call personable.”

“That’s the understatement of the year,” Robyn agreed. “Although I think in this case, his dislike of me is the driving force much as anything else.”

“You tried, and that’s all that counts,” Decker said. “If he refuses to accept your hospitality, we can’t force him.”

“Still, I’d hate for anything to happen to the old coot.” Robyn managed a weak smile. “He might be a rude and angry jerk, but he’s still family.”

“You’re more forgiving than I would be,” Fowler said. “There’s no excuse for behavior like that.”

“Maybe not.” Robyn shrugged. “But that’s Carlton, and he’s a bit long in the tooth to learn new tricks.”

“I meant what I said as a compliment to you, more than a recrimination of him,” Fowler replied. “Actually, on second thought, I think it was both things at the same time.”

“I know.” Robyn’s smile widened.

“And on that note, I think I’ll bid you all goodnight.” Fowler pushed his seat back and stood up. “Dead bodies create an inordinate amount of paperwork, and I should probably retire to my room and start in on it.”

“Me too,” Barnes said. He turned to Decker. “If you don’t need me for anything else, I’ll see you in the morning. I’d still like to chase down Wagner Mitchell and talk to him if you’re up for it.”

“Sure,” Decker replied. “We’ll go first thing after breakfast.”

Barnes nodded and followed his partner out of the saloon toward the stairs.

Robyn watched them go, then turned to Decker. “I’m going to hit the hay too. I’ve had no time to myself since this all kicked off, and there’s a period romance that I’m dying to finish reading. Gotta find out if the scullery maid gets her prince.”

“If they are anything like the books Nancy reads, I have a feeling she will.”

“Nancy?”

“My better half.”

“Ah.” Robyn nodded then turned toward her quarters.

Decker watched her go and headed toward the stairs. It was a little before ten o’clock, which would be almost midnight central time. It was late, but Nancy would still be awake to take his call, and he was looking forward to hearing her voice.

Chapter Forty-Five

The screech jolted Decker awake, his eyes snapping open. He lay still and listened, waiting for the eerie sound to repeat itself, but there was only silence. He wondered if he’d dreamed the strangely plaintive cry, but he didn’t think so.

It was still dark. The clock on his nightstand read 3 AM. The pillow under his head was wet, the sheets sticky. The room was too warm. He must’ve forgotten to set the temperature on the AC unit when he went to bed. He sat up and turned on the lamp next to the bed. Climbing out, he crossed to the air conditioning control panel near the bedroom door and adjusted the temperature down by five degrees. Soon there was a low hum as the unit kicked on.

Decker was about to climb back into bed when the sound came again, a plaintive high-pitched cry that rose in intensity before dying away.

He hadn’t dreamed it after all. Was it a coyote? He didn’t think so. He’d heard plenty of coyote calls and this had a different timbre.

Decker turned off the bedside lamp and went to the window. He pulled the curtain back enough to see outside. He was the only person sleeping on this side of the building. Robyn’s quarters were at the rear behind the saloon bar, and the two FBI agents occupied rooms on the other side of the hall. Their windows faced the other direction. Only his own room looked down upon the ghost town’s dusty main street, which was lit only by a single exterior lamp affixed to a pole near what had once been the town’s assay office. He could still make out the faint lettering identifying it as such across the wooden building’s weathered frontage.

He let his gaze wander over the landscape, from the road at the far end of town that led to Boulder City and Vegas, to the dirt trail winding up to the