Harlequin Intrigue April 2021--Box Set 2 of 2 Carol Ericson (short books to read TXT) 📖

His ears rang as he tried to make sense of the events the woman described. He lowered his hands to his sides. Remi had changed the plan by trying to escape. She’d fought back, forced her abductor to make a rash decision and paid the price.

“Which direction?” His voice sounded hollow, unfamiliar even in his own ears.

“What?” The fear was back in the woman’s expression, the uncertainty.

“Where did they go?” he asked.

She pointed to the freeway, and a rock settled in the pit of his stomach. The son of a bitch had only pulled off the interstate to get rid of Remi’s phone. He could’ve taken her anywhere by now. Dylan reached into his back pocket and extracted a handful of bills from his wallet. He had no idea how much, but he wasn’t going to take the chance the killer would come back to look for witnesses. He offered the money to the woman and her son. “Here’s enough to get yourselves a full meal and a room for the next couple of nights. Leave the phone. And whatever you do, don’t come back here.”

The woman snatched the cash from his hand and backed away slowly, as though he’d attack, then tossed the phone right at him. Without another word, she latched onto her son and ran for the trees, taking the last account of Remi being alive with her.

Dylan stared down at the phone, dread pooling at the base of his spine. The GPS would be useless, but the phone itself might have something of use. Gravel and dirt crunched under his boots as he rounded to the rear of his SUV and hefted the hatch above his head. Every marshal under Remi’s jurisdiction was required to carry emergency supplies and a forensic kit.

This was an emergency.

He tugged a tackle box from the back of the space and flipped it open. After snapping a pair of latex gloves into place, he extracted an evidence bag and collected the phone from the dirt. US marshals were in the business of protecting witnesses, transporting high-profile criminals and fugitive recovery, not forensics. But that wasn’t going to stop him from doing anything he could to save the sheriff who’d given him a new purpose in this damn world. The woman who’d found the phone had most likely smeared or destroyed any fingerprints that might’ve been left from the killer, but Dylan couldn’t risk leaving the device behind.

His phone vibrated in his pocket as he secured the evidence in the lockbox at the back of his vehicle. Peeling the gloves from his hands, he answered the incoming call. “Tell me you have something.”

Because from the description the witness had given him, Remi was already out of time.

“CSU’s report from the scene at Del Howe’s cabin was issued a little less than an hour ago. They found a small section of tire impressions that matched the treads of a marshals service SUV. Looks like someone had tried to destroy evidence they were ever there.” Tension raced down Dylan’s spine at Reed’s next words. “And my gut is telling me you might know who.”

Not someone. Him. Damn it. He’d missed a section of mud when he’d been there three days ago. He’d entered the cabin legally with the help of the property’s owners, but any other evidence the forensics team uncovered of him being there, combined with his past experience on the New Castle Killer case, only strengthened Gresham PD’s theory Remi was involved. Dylan cleared his throat. “They were mine.”

“Well that makes my life easier. I take it you weren’t there on marshal business or you would’ve told us sooner.” The distinctive sound of rustling paper filtered through the line. “In addition to that section of treads, Forensics found a complete set of footprints coming from the tree line and stopping directly under the window at the south side of the cabin. Scratches indicate a crowbar had been used to unlock the window from the outside. Can I credit you with that, too?”

“I had a key from the cabin’s owners. I didn’t need to use a window.” The south window. That didn’t make sense. “That was where the hikers said they were when they discovered Del Howe’s body inside, but that doesn’t explain why they would try to break into the cabin.”

“Or why there was only one set of footprints instead of two,” Reed said. “The prints are from a pair of well-known size twelve hiking boots. According to the hikers’ statements, they were together when they discovered Del Howe’s body yesterday morning, but that doesn’t look like that’s the case.”

Dylan’s head pounded in rhythm to his racing heart. The hikers had lied when they’d given their statement to Gresham PD. “We need to talk to them again.”

“Captain Paulson has already dispatched two patrol units to bring them in. Gresham PD collected the hikers’ boots at the scene, but I asked him to put a rush on the lab work. So far, there hasn’t been any answer at Annabell Ross’s home, and they can’t seem to get a permanent address for her hiking partner, Henry Sallow.” A high-pitched squeak pierced through the phone. Reed’s chair. “The footprints leading up to the window had traces of volcanic rock in the treads, which stood out, considering the last volcano to erupt around that area was Mount Saint Helens in ’80. Hard to believe traces would have survived all that time unless they were fresh.”

“Did you say volcanic rock?” Dylan narrowed his gaze on the ramp leading back onto the interstate, which would keep taking him north.

There’d been a story in the news the past few months about a group of central Oregon hikers who’d discovered miles of new lava tubes and caves longer than geologists had originally thought running straight from Mount St. Helens. Some of which had never risen to the surface. If the hikers who’d called 9-1-1 about Del Howe’s body had been part of the small group of explorers, they could’ve