Tough Enough

  “I’m sorry about the last time we were here,” J.D. finally said, sounding as young and unsure of himself as he had nine years ago.

  “It was just a silly girl thing.” Right. She could still remember every moment, including J.D. telling her he was leaving. The words didn’t even register because he’d touched her cheek with his fingers. Her heart had pounded so loudly she didn’t hear half of what he’d said. Instead she’d blurted out how she loved him, would always love him. And, impulsively, she’d stood on tiptoes and kissed him. “I got over it.”

  “Yeah, I noticed.”

  She took a breath and let it out slowly. “I always knew you’d have to leave one day because of your career. I just had this crazy idea that you’d take me with you.”

  “You know I couldn’t have done that. You were only sixteen. Max would have had my head.” His tone softened. “Anyway, all I could think about back then was my music. And you were just a kid who couldn’t possibly know what she was saying. I mean offering me your heart—”

  “Let’s not talk about it,” she interrupted. It had been bad enough nine years ago; she didn’t need him reminding her how she’d thrown herself at him. “What are you really doing here?” she asked.

  “Here?” He looked up at the fire tower. “I wish I knew.”

  “Not here. Here in West Yellowstone.” She turned on the bench seat to face him. She’d thought it would be different, the two of them on this mountaintop again. It wasn’t. She wasn’t a kid anymore, but she still wanted this man. Damn him. “What are you doing here with me right now? And don’t give me that line about your being worried about me.”

  J.D. smiled. “I wish you’d just say what you think for once, Denny.” His eyes darkened. “I’m here because I can’t let you go after Max’s murderer alone.”

  She stared at him. “Does that mean you’re going to help me—or try to stop me?”

  “I’d rather talk you out of it—” he held up his hand before she could protest “—but since I know that would be impossible, I guess I’m going to … help you.”

  She hated herself for being suspicious. “Why do you want to help me after all these years?”

  “Let’s just say I owe it to Max.”

  “Oh.” Her heart whispered, I told you so. And the wall she’d built around it called for reinforcements. “What makes you think I want your help?”

  He laughed. It was a wonderful sound that made her smile. “You’re something else, Denver McCallahan. Most women would be anxious for any assistance. Even mine.”

  “I guess I’m not most women.”

  His gaze met hers and held it. “No, Denny, I’m beginning to realize that.”

  He said her name with an intimacy that rattled her. But he seemed serious and it wasn’t like anyone else was offering. “If you mean it, then here’s the deal,” she said, still studying him intently. “No logical arguments. And no trying to protect me from myself.”

  He grinned and pulled off his glove. “You drive a hard bargain, but you’ve got yourself a deal,” he said, extending his hand.

  Reluctantly, Denver pulled off her glove and took his hand. It was warm and soft, but strong. She suspected it would be the same feeling in his arms.

  “With a little luck, maybe it will all be over tonight,” she said quietly, the memory of his touch still making her hand tingle. If she cared anything about her heart, she had better hope this was over soon. Spending time with J. D. Garrison could definitely be harmful to her health.

  J.D. followed her gaze down the mountain. He couldn’t believe he’d agreed to help her find Max’s murderer. He blamed the late night, his growing exhaustion, the nearness of Denny. But what choice did he have? It was the only way he could stay close to her, the only way he had any chance of protecting her.

  Stop deluding yourself, Garrison. You’re looking forward to spending time with her. He smiled to himself. While he wanted Max’s killer caught soon for Denny’s sake, he didn’t mind staying around for a while, staying around her. She intrigued him in a way no other woman ever had.

  Overhead, the tower swayed in the wind; the clouds ate up the starlight as quickly as it appeared. A light flashed in the distance. J.D. sat up, staring down the mountain. It took him a moment to realize the lights he’d seen were headlights and they were coming up the mountain road. He watched the vehicle inch up the mountainside, then looked over at Denny. He wanted to take her in his arms and hold her, but the look in her eyes warned him that would be a mistake. She didn’t trust him anymore.

  “Even if this turns out to be nothing, we’re going to find Max’s killer,” he whispered. “Together.”

  She didn’t look convinced. And he wondered what it would take to make her believe in him again. For some reason he couldn’t understand, he wanted that more than he’d wanted anything in his life—even his music.

  The headlights neared the top of the mountain. J.D. looked at the lights without seeing them, as he realized it could be Pete Williams coming up that road. As the car came around the second-to-last switchback, he knew he’d do whatever had to be done to protect Denny. No matter who the killer turned out to be.

  Then his heart stopped in midbeat as a second set of lights flashed on from the shortcut road. And in the time it took him to take a breath, the second vehicle leaped directly into the path of the oncoming car. The car veered to the left, away from the sudden bright lights, and dropped over the abrupt edge of the road.

  “Oh, my God,” J.D. breathed. He heard Denver cry out beside him as the car cartwheeled like a toy down the mountainside, its headlights rotating in the darkness.

  J.D. jumped from the Jeep and ran to the edge of the road. The second vehicle sped back up the cutoff road, into the twisted pines and disappeared from view. J.D. stared after it for a moment, then looked down to where the car lay at the bottom of the mountainside, its headlights slicing up through the darkness at a frightening angle.

  Beside him, Denver began to cry.

  Chapter Six

  Dawn came with a bloodred sun over Horse Butte Fire Tower. Denver stood huddled in the scratchy wool blanket J.D. had found in the back of the Jeep, his arm around her, warm and reassuring. She couldn’t remember J.D. leaving to go to the pay phone at Rainbow Point to call Sheriff’s Deputy Cline or him returning to Horse Butte to wait with her for Cline to arrive with the ambulance and wrecker. But the memory of the car being forced off the road kept coming back, a slow-motion nightmare, and the sound of the ambulance wailing into the last of night still clung in the air.

  “It’s hard to believe,” Cline said as he looked back up at the mountain. “You’d think a fall like that would have killed him. Damned lucky kid. Course if he comes to, he’s in a pile of trouble.”

  “What do you mean?” Denver asked.

  “Car theft. Not to mention no driver’s license.”

  “He stole the car?” she asked in surprise.

  Cline grinned. “Stole it from behind the Elkhorn Café. Probably just forgot to mention to the cook who owns it that he was taking it.” The deputy flipped through his notebook. “Okay, let me get this straight. You don’t find it strange that a fifteen-year-old kid calls you in the middle of the night and tells you to meet him out here?”

  “We’ve already been over this,” J.D. interjected.

  Cline ignored him. “And you say you didn’t know who it was until you saw him.”

  “The voice sounded familiar. Then when I saw Davey—” Denver stopped, remembering the horror of finding the boy in the crumpled car. “When I saw him, I realized it was his voice I’d heard on the phone.”

  Cline smirked at her. “And rather than call me, you decided to meet the kid yourself?”

  “The voice on the phone said he wouldn’t wait long. All I was thinking about was getting here as quickly as possible. You probably couldn’t have gotten here in time anyway.”

  Cline smiled coldly. “But wouldn’t it have been nice if you’d have let me try?”

>   Denver stomped her feet, trying to warm them, and glanced over at J.D. He looked sick, as if what he’d witnessed last night had hurt something critical inside him. “All I can tell you is that someone tried to murder Davey Matthews. They came out of the shortcut road and forced him off the mountain.”

  “Now why would anyone want to hurt a high school dropout working as a dishwasher at the Elkhorn Café? Except maybe the cook whose car he stole,” Cline added.

  Denver took a calming breath. “Davey told me on the phone that if someone found out he’d called me, that person would try to kill him.”

  “Someone?” the deputy asked.

  She pulled the blanket more closely around her. She was cold and tired, and she didn’t want to deal with Cline. Whoever that someone was, he’d stopped Davey from talking to her. Now Davey was unconscious and Denver knew no more than she had yesterday at Max’s funeral. “Davey called him a ‘he.’ Isn’t it obvious to you that Davey knew something and that someone tried to keep him from telling me what it was?”

  Cline frowned. “How long have you known Davey Matthews?”

  She sighed. “I don’t really know him. He did odd jobs for my uncle. Davey wanted to be a private investigator. Max was trying to get him to go back to high school and graduate. He also used to hang around the band some.”

  She called up a blurry picture of Davey in her memory: a boy in his teens with large brown eyes and stringy, long brown hair. She immediately felt guilty because she’d never paid much attention to him. Then she remembered him the way he looked when she and J.D. had found him at the bottom of the mountain. At first, she’d thought he was dead. She shivered despite the wool blanket she clutched around her. “I haven’t seen him in months.”

  “What band? The Montana Country Club band?” Cline asked.

  Denver nodded. A chill ran through her as she watched the wrecker operator hook onto the demolished car. “Davey would hang around asking questions about drums, guitars, sound systems.” She glanced up to find J.D. studying her. He seemed surprised by something she’d said.

  The deputy stopped scribbling in his notebook to give each of them a searching glance. “Isn’t that the band you started, Garrison?”

  “Pete and J.D. started the band,” Denver said quickly. “About ten years ago. Pete kept it going when J.D. left.”

  Cline rubbed his chin. “What happened? You two have a falling out over something?” He shifted his gaze from J.D. to Denver; a smile played at his lips. “Or over someone?”

  “Could we get this over with? It’s cold out here,” J.D. said.

  Cline grinned at Denver but directed his question to J.D. “Your timing’s interesting, Garrison. What was it you said brought you back to West?”

  “Business.” J.D.’s gaze narrowed. Denver could feel the heat of anger coming from him. “Personal business.”

  Cline cocked an eyebrow at him. “I’ll bet. And how was it you just happened along tonight when you did?”

  “I had stopped by Denver’s—”

  “At four in the morning?” Cline interrupted.

  “I was worried about her,” J.D. said, his voice deadly soft.

  “Worried?”

  J.D. nodded.

  “And with good reason, it appears,” Cline said, slamming his notebook shut.

  “When will I be able to see Davey?” Denver asked.

  Cline scowled at her. “This is sheriff’s department business now. But I wouldn’t put much hope in Davey knowing anything about your uncle’s death.”

  “I guess we won’t know until Davey comes to,” J.D. said tightly.

  “If he does.” Cline shoved the notebook into his pocket. “I’ve got some forms for the two of you to fill out.”

  “We’ll meet you at the office,” J.D. said.

  Cline seemed about to say something, but apparently stopped himself. He frowned at J.D. “Make sure you do that.”

  PETE WOKE TO THE SOUND of the phone ringing. He sat up on the couch and immediately grabbed his head. “Damn.” He looked around, surprised to find himself not in his apartment but in Denver’s cabin. The phone rang again. He stumbled after the sound, confused, head aching. It felt like he had a ferocious hangover, but the last thing he could remember drinking was that awful tea… . “Hello?”

  “You blew it.” The words were little more than a harsh breath but Pete recognized the synthesized voice right away. Midnight. “Your precious Denver could be dead right now.”

  Panic cramped his stomach. “Denver? What’s happened to her?” He glanced up the stairs, realizing that if she were here, she’d have answered the phone. “Where’s Denver? Is she all right?”

  “She’s fine. But what the hell happened to you last night?” Midnight demanded.

  Pete rubbed his hand over his face, trying to recall. The pills. And the tea. Something clanged, and Pete realized that Midnight was calling from a phone booth. “I … guess the teacups got … switched.”

  Midnight let out an oath. “And just how did that happen?”

  Pete didn’t have a clue. He’d been so sure Denver wasn’t on to him. “I don’t know. But I won’t mess up again. You have my word on that.”

  “Your word?” Midnight laughed. “I have your life on that.”

  So true. “What did you mean, Denver could be dead?”

  “Take a look at your pickup.”

  Pete stepped to the door. He swallowed hard. “It’s covered with mud.” Mud? The West Yellowstone basin was miles of coarse obsidian sand. Where could he have gotten mud on his truck?

  Midnight chuckled. “Don’t remember going to Horse Butte last night?”

  “Horse Butte?” He rubbed his temples. How many pills had he put in that damned tea anyway? “I couldn’t have driven up to Horse Butte last night.” But obviously his pickup had.

  “I would suggest you wash it before anyone sees it,” Midnight said.

  “Wash it?” Pete tried to shake off the effect of the pills. His life depended on it, and even drugged, he was smart enough to know that. “Don’t tell me you woke me up at this time of the morning to tell me to wash my truck?”

  “The question you should be asking is how it got muddy.”

  Pete stared at his pickup as the puzzling question wove its way into his hurting head. “How did it get muddy?”

  Midnight laughed. “You’ll find out soon enough.” He hung up.

  Pete stared at the phone for a moment, then stumbled to the door and pulled on his boots, feeling sick. What the hell had happened last night? He had a feeling he didn’t want to know.

  The phone rang as he was shrugging on his coat. Pete hurried to it, thinking it might be Denver.

  “Pete Williams?” a female voice asked.

  “Yes.” He held his breath.

  “This is Helen, the dispatcher at the sheriff’s office. Deputy Cline asked me to call you. He said to tell you, and I quote, ‘Your girlfriend is on her way to the sheriff’s office with J. D. Garrison and maybe you’d better get your butt down there.”’

  “What’s this all about?” Pete asked, his heart lodged in his throat. Why would Denver and J.D. be on their way to the sheriff’s office this time of the morning, together, when the last time he saw her she was headed up to bed alone?

  “There was an accident on Horse Butte last night.”

  Pete darted a look at his pickup. “Horse Butte?” His heart pounded. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “I really can’t tell you, but I’m sure Deputy Cline will fill you in when you get here.”

  “I’m sure,” Pete said and hung up, his gaze never leaving the muddy pickup. Horse Butte. Looking outside, he could see that Denver’s Jeep was gone, but J.D.’s pickup stood back in the pines, mud free.

  “What the hell’s going on?” he said to the empty cabin. All he knew for sure was that he had to wash his truck before he went to the sheriff’s office.

  J.D. SEEMED LOST in thought all the way into town. Denver didn’t mind. She didn’t want to talk
anyway; she kept turning over Cline’s questions in her mind. By the time they’d reached the sheriff’s office, some of the shock had worn off, making things seem a little clearer to her.

  The dispatcher sent them into Cline’s office to wait for him. After a good while, the deputy sheriff came in, eating a big gooey doughnut and slurping a giant-size cup of coffee.

  “Why don’t you believe someone tried to keep Davey from talking to me?” Denver asked him before he could sit down.

  He shoved the last of the doughnut into his mouth and made a place on his desk for the coffee. “Not a very surefire way to shut somebody up permanently, wouldn’t you say?” He sat down; the office chair groaned under his weight.

  “I told you, the vehicle came off the shortcut road from the far side of Horse Butte. From the angle it came at Davey, his immediate reaction would have been to go to the edge,” Denver said.

  “She’s right,” J.D. cut in. “Even an experienced driver might have done the same thing at that spot on the road.”

  Cline shrugged as he began riffling through a stack of papers on his desk. “Maybe. But let’s look at this reasonably. Davey Matthews was driving up the mountain probably to extort money from Miss McCallahan. He’d just stolen a car. And it was pretty dark and spooky out. Then all of a sudden another car appears on the road in front of him. It’s no wonder he overreacted.”

  “We don’t know for a fact that Davey planned to extort money from Denver,” J.D. reminded him.

  “Nor do we know for a fact that the other vehicle purposely tried to run Davey off the road,” Cline said, slamming his hand down on his desk. “What we do know is that Davey Matthews is a dropout, a small-time car thief and—”

  “I know what I saw,” Denver interrupted. And what she knew in her heart. Davey had come up the mountain to tell her who’d killed her uncle. And if Max had trusted Davey to run errands for him, the kid was all right. “I witnessed an attempted murder.”