Authors: Kathryn Loch
Nikki grinned.
“Believe me, I understand.”
His mouth actually quirked in a lopsided smile.
She was surprised how handsome it made him look. He turned his back on the locals and gestured toward the door.
“After you, ladies,” he said and held it open for them.
Emma led her away. But Nikki’s gaze returned to the giant who held the door. She shouldn’t stare, she told herself, but his amber eyes sparked with a fire she had never seen. His intense anger faded and his mouth softened as he looked at her. He gave her a friendly nod and walked the opposite direction. A few paces away, Emma let out an explosive breath.
“Good Lord, Nikki, you’re not here one day and you get in deep.”
She frowned. “What are you talking about?”
“Roumare,” she whispered harshly, jabbing her finger at the departing man’s back.
“Is bad news.”
“It seems those yahoos in there are worse news.”
She nodded. “They’re not much better. But a word to the wise. Stay away from Roumare.”
“Why?
He’s odd but at least he helped get my Bronco out of the ditch.”
“What happened?”
Quickly, Nikki explained the incident.
Emma shivered.
“You’re lucky,” she whispered. “Roumare’s...had some problems around here. I wouldn’t want to meet him alone on a dark road.”
Nikki stared at her for a moment
, then looked over her shoulder. Roumare continued to walk down the street, stopping when Josh Starwell exited a shop and gave him a warm handshake.
“Aside from Doc Blackthorn, Josh is the only one who will talk to Roumare now,” Emma said. “They’ve been friends forever and roomed together in college.”
The door to the café opened again and the men who had insulted Roumare stepped out. Nikki edged closer to Emma. “Who are they?”
“The guy with the beer gut is Taylor.
He owns the hunting lodge up here. It’s a big place with a lot of rich and famous customers. The others work for him. Rod is the one you said hit the wolf, and the idiot with the stained shirt is Denny. The big guy is new, I think his name is Rory Sanders. Rumor has it, that he’s Taylor’s hired muscle.”
Nikki arched an eyebrow. The guy was certainly big enough to be part of a goon squad, but too attractive.
She inwardly smiled to herself, realizing how she had automatically stereotyped him. “So things are bad enough Taylor has to hire a bodyguard?”
Emma gave an unladylike snort. “Naw, Taylor just likes the intimidation factor.
He and Roumare have a long standing feud and Taylor brought Sanders on to make Roumare think twice. I don’t think it will work though.”
Nikki’s gaze traveled back to Roumare, still conversing pleasantly with Starwell.
She scowled as a sheriff’s vehicle, a Jeep Cherokee, drove up the road and stopped beside the two men. The sheriff got out and approached Roumare. Nikki almost rubbed her eyes to make sure she wasn’t seeing things. Good grief, the man was a Jackie Gleason clone.
Instantly, Roumare’s demeanor changed, again his expression turned flat and his body seemed to coil.
The sheriff spoke to Roumare and Starwell. Nikki was too far away to hear what was said, but she saw Roumare grow more agitated. Even Starwell appeared worried as the conversation escalated with urgent hand gestures. Their actions also attracted Taylor’s attention, who watched with avid interest, a smile tugging at his lips.
“What’s going on?” Nikki whispered to Emma.
“I have no idea,” she replied, but her face was white. “We should go.”
But Nikki refused to move. Her attention riveted on Roumare. Working so long with wolves, Nikki had learned to watch for body language, and Roumare’s indicated he was on the verge of violence.
The sheriff appeared to reach for his cuffs, but Roumare lifted his hands in a conciliatory gesture. He spoke quickly, then his amber eyes locked on Nikki. For an instant, time seemed to stop as his gaze captured her completely. Then he turned back to the sheriff and spoke again. The sheriff nodded and gestured for Roumare to get in the Cherokee. They pulled away and Starwell hurried to his own vehicle, quickly following the sheriff.
Taylor glanced at Nikki, his eyes gleaming with a predatory light. “He’s marked another one, boys,” he said and laughed.
The others laughed with him, except Sanders, who remained stoically silent. His icy green eyes studied her for a moment, as if measuring her worth. Taylor laughed again, then he and his goons departed. Sanders hesitated only a moment, then followed.
Nikki turned back to Emma.
“I thought this was supposed to be a nice town with a low crime rate. What gives?”
Emma seemed to realize this might effect a potential sale and warred with herself a moment.
“It is,” she said quickly. “You just met the bottom of the barrel first. I am sure you will like it here.”
Nikki’s suspicion jumped.
Emma wasn’t telling her everything. “I hope so,” she muttered and stepped to her Bronco.
Michael de Roumare sat in the tiny interrogation room
, fuming. The small room was in a prefab trailer and had a one way mirror. The sheriff’s department of Shadow Mountain had few modern amenities. The walls on the modified trailer were so thin, Michael could easily send his fist through them if he wanted.
Through the cardboard walls, Michael heard the sheriff talking heatedly with Josh.
Actually, the sheriff was heated, Josh as always, kept his voice calm and relaxed. Michael was grateful for his best friend. Sometimes they didn’t always see eye to eye, but when it mattered, Josh came through for Michael.
He was mortified Nicole had witnessed this morning’s events. The sheriff had almost cuffed him in front of her.
Michael’s throat tightened and he closed his eyes. She was a beautiful girl. Nicole’s long blonde hair swept to the middle of her back, silky strands with red-gold highlights. Jeans, a heavy sweater, and a jacket had blurred her form slightly, but not enough to hide her sweet curves and elegant lines. She reached the middle of his chest because Michael stood taller than most. Her face was soft, but Michael instantly recognized a strong jaw and graceful cheekbones, adding a vibrant counter of life to her gentle features. This woman had an élan the likes of which he had never encountered.
Her green eyes had gazed at him as steadily.
He had never seen her before, yet she possessed his attention as if he had known her forever.
T
hen the sheriff had hauled Michael off for questioning. Although he cringed at what this might mean, he tried to keep his temper under control. This was a game he had played before...he knew the rules, and knew them well.
Michael sighed and bowed his head, his anger fading.
Last night, just before bed, his instincts had assailed him with pain and fear. He had known the moment Anpa was hit on the road and ran to help her. But he had been too late. She had died a short distance from the road. After the awful incident, Michael had tried to get some sleep, but his instincts rose again. So powerful they twisted his stomach with pain and nausea, nagging incessantly rather than sharp with urgency. He did not know the cause. He had experienced this awful sensation in the past. The first time had been when he was seven...the night his parents had been killed in a car accident.
Michael now knew better than to ignore the premonitions, but could rarely find an answer in the confusing maelstrom of his instincts.
He had always been different from those who walked Shadow Mountain.
Perhaps it was due, in part, to his French-Arapaho blood, perhaps it was simply the gods toying with him, but Michael sensed more than the average man. He heard nature’s voice whispering, but never understood her words. Michael thought of it as instinct. His Arapaho grandfather had said Michael could touch a part of the soul man had forgotten. Others said it was a sixth sense of sorts, or even precognition.
Most called it insanity.
Michael rubbed his eyes. He hated the nagging sensations. They were so indefinable he could never form a plan of action from them, he could never avoid fate. Why was he plagued with foreknowledge yet completely helpless?
Like right now.
He lifted his head and looked around the tiny room. The door opened and Sheriff John Boyd entered. Michael knew Josh still stood on the other side of the window.
“Now what, sheriff?” Michael asked tightly.
“Where were you last night?”
Michael sighed.
“At home, alone.”
“You used to date, Joanna Martin, right?”
His heart hesitated in fear. Again his stomach curled into a sickening knot. “Yes,” he said slowly, praying his fears were not true. “But that was over a month ago.”
“That break up had to hurt.”
Michael shrugged. “After everything that happened, sheriff, I was cautious...perhaps a bit paranoid. We dated casually and we were never alone. Joanna got tired of it.” Unwillingly, Michael’s gaze traveled to his left hand - the tan line from the wedding ring he had once worn had faded completely.
The sheriff gazed at him a long moment.
“It’s been what...a year since your wife was murdered?”
Michael winced, pain tearing at his heart. “Laura wasn’t my wife then, she divorced me during the trial, remember?”
“But you still wore the ring even after she was found on your land, three months later, brutally raped and murdered.”
Michael shrugged.
“It was hard to let go of the past.”
“So hard that you killed her?”
“Damn it, sheriff,” Michael barked, his temper sparking. “We’ve been through this before.”
“And we’re going to go through it again because Joanna was found the same way last night.”
Michael’s heart twisted in his chest and he buried his face in his hands.
Oh God, not again, not Joanna.
How could this have happened? Why had it happened?
Sorrow battered him.
Joanna had ended their relationship, but that did not mean Michael didn’t care about her. She had been a sweet girl...stubborn at times...but definitely did not deserve the fate of rape and murder.
“You know, Roumare, this is getting to be a pattern with you. First Denise claims you raped and mutilated her, drags you through a trial. Your own wife believes you’re guilty, divorces you, winds up dead, and Joanna dumps you and was murdered last night.
How can you explain that?”
“I can’t, sheriff,” Michael whispered, his voice shaking with shock and pain. “I didn’t do any of this. The jury said not guilty with Denise, remember?”
“Juries make mistakes.”
“So do investigators.”
“You said you were with a friend last night?”
“No,” Michael replied wearily, knowing the sheriff was trying to trap him. “I said I was home, alone.”
He paused. “But I did meet Nicole Matthews last night,” he said and quickly told the sheriff what had happened.
The sheriff frowned and scribbled on a notepad. “About what time?”
Michael rubbed his temples. “Ten thirty or so. Anpa died in the woods, I got home about eleven.”
The sheriff nodded.
“This was by Old Mill Road?”
“Yes.”
“Opposite direction from where we found the body. We have a search warrant for your home, Roumare. My deputies are there now.”
“You won’t find anything, sheriff, because I didn’t do anything.”
“And what about the rest of the night? Can anyone verify you’re alibi?”
He thought for a moment.
“My cousin, Chris, in Denver, called me at about eight. We talked for quite a while because he and Susan are planning to visit for the holidays and we wanted to work out the details.”
The sheriff nodded, making notes on his pad.
“We’ll check phone records. Do you know how long you talked?”
“A couple of hours.
I don’t hear from him very often so when we do talk it lasts awhile. It wasn’t long after that when Anpa got hit.”
“All right
—”
A knock interrupted him and Deputy Jeffries opened the door.
“Sheriff, I need to speak with you.”
The sheriff left the room.
Michael rubbed his eyes. Dear God, how could this be happening? “I am sorry, Joanna,” he whispered. He would never do anything to hurt her, or Laura even though she had left him when he needed her most, or Denise Webster. This whole thing was snowballing out of control. Someone was killing the women Michael had known and trying to pin the murders on him. It all started with Denise and the trial. At least she was still alive. But even though she destroyed his life with her lies, Michael would never wish such harm on anyone.
The sheriff returned.
“Well, Roumare, you squeaked out of this one again. We didn’t find anything at your home. I’m releasing you for now, but you know the routine, no sudden vacations.”
“I know, sheriff,” he said and stood, his body shaking.
The sheriff opened the door. “Starwell,” he snapped. “Keep an eye on him.”