“Just a minute.” Denver looked around for something to write on. Digging in the wastebasket, she found a piece of paper and wrote the number on the back of it.
After she hung up, she glanced at her watch, the watch Pete had given her. It had been such a thoughtful gift. “I just wanted you to know that I was thinking of you,” he’d said the morning he’d returned from his gig in Missoula, the morning after Max was found murdered.
She stared at the watch, remembering all the things Pete had done for her over the years. She thought of the tea he’d made her last night, of him passed out on her couch, of the mud that remained on his pickup. There had to be an explanation. Because if she couldn’t trust Pete, then whom could she trust?
Chapter Seven
Denver knew she couldn’t sleep until she talked to Davey Matthews, no matter what Pete said. She took a quick shower and left his apartment.
Once outside in the bright spring sun, she felt a little better. The strong scent of pine and the sun filtering down through the snowy branches promised a new warmer season. She stuffed Maggie’s number into her jeans pocket, breathed in the sweet familiarity of the small town and headed for her Jeep. Her steps faltered when she spied the figure leaning against her car. Desire took a trip through her bloodstream at the speed of light.
“Hi,” J.D. said, straightening. The sun caught in his eyes, moonlight on water. She fought the urge to wade in, to take even a little dip, no matter how warm and inviting they appeared.
“I’m on my way to the hospital in Bozeman to see Davey Matthews.” She dared him to argue with her.
“I’ll drive,” J.D. offered.
She did a double take. “What, no argument?”
He smiled. It had its usual heart-thudding effect on her. “I believe the deal was no logical arguments. No trying to protect you from yourself. Right?”
“Right. So why did I think you’d change your mind?”
He frowned. “Probably because you don’t trust me.”
She nodded.
“Give me a chance?” he asked.
His smile warmed something deep inside, thawing the wall of ice around her heart. She looked into his eyes and wanted nothing more than to curl up in his arms.
“Have you heard anything more on Davey’s condition?” he asked as he walked her toward his pickup.
“No. I couldn’t get any information on Davey from the hospital. At least there, he should be safe.”
J.D. opened the door for her. Just as she started to get in, she turned to look behind her, feeling that they were being watched.
PETE LEANED AGAINST the wall of the building across the street, fighting the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach at seeing Denver and J.D. together. He swore under his breath, his love for Denver almost overwhelming him. He gritted his teeth, wanting desperately to be the one she turned to, the one who would take her in his arms and make love to her. Instead it looked like it would be J. D. Garrison.
That realization squeezed the blood from his heart. For years he’d lived in J. D. Garrison’s shadow. Denver had never seen him as anything but a friend. Just recently, he had felt as if he were winning her over.
Now J.D. was back in town.
And as long as J.D. was in the picture, Pete knew he didn’t stand a chance. He watched them get into the pale green Ford pickup. If J.D. was gone, Denver would turn to him just as she had years ago. Only this time, he wasn’t going to chance J.D. ever coming back again. He’d stop J.D. from ruining everything. And at the same time, get him out of their lives forever.
DENNY TURNED ON THE RADIO as J.D. started up the engine. “What’s this?” she asked, sounding surprised. “Rock and roll?” She thumbed over to the country and western station. He could feel her studying him out of the corner of her eye.
One of his latest songs, “Heart Full of Misery,” came on the radio. He reached over and turned it off. “Denny, we have to talk.”
“So what’s it really like being a star?” she asked, turning in the bench seat to face him.
J.D. looked over at her, knowing she wanted to talk about anything but Pete—the one thing they really needed to discuss. The sun spilling through the window caught in her still-damp hair, firing it to burnished copper. She smelled of spring, her skin pink from her shower. Just the sight of her made him ache with a need for her like none he’d ever known.
“A star?” he asked, trying to concentrate on the question. He’d never thought of himself as anything but a guitar picker. Certainly not a star. Stars had a tendency to fall. “What’s it like? Months on the road playing concerts, months of trying to write new songs, months in a recording studio.” He looked into her eyes, the color of a tropic sea, and felt a pull stronger than the tides. “It’s not all it’s cracked up to be.”
“But it’s what you always wanted.”
He pulled up to a stop sign and looked over at her again, letting his gaze caress her face the way his fingers wanted to do. “Is it?”
“Everything comes at a price,” she said.
Didn’t he know it. He stared into those aquamarine eyes of hers for a long moment and forced himself to pull away. You just want to protect her, just like when you were kids. He laughed softly to himself as he turned onto the highway. I think it’s a little more than that. Because right now the last thing he was thinking about was protecting Denny. And, boy, did she need protecting. But not just from Pete.
“Denny.” He took her hand in his. Just the feel of it made him want to stop the car and take her in his arms, to hold her, to feel her body against his. When this was over—“We have to talk about Pete.”
She pulled her hand free, closed her eyes and leaned back against the seat.
“I was at Max’s burial service yesterday,” he said. Her eyes flew open and she turned to look at him. “I met Maggie in that stand of pines overlooking the cemetery.”
She narrowed her gaze at him, the old fight coming back into her. “You and Maggie? I don’t understand.”
He saw her marshal forces against what he was about to say, knowing she understood only too well. “Maggie thinks Pete is somehow involved in Max’s death.”
Her next words came out controlled, careful, but her gaze crackled like Saint Elmo’s fire. “Why would Maggie think that?”
“Max seemed worried in the few weeks before his death, Maggie said.” He saw reluctant agreement in Denny’s expression. “The day he died, he told Maggie he was going to see Pete. He was very upset, and told her he had to stop Pete before someone got killed.”
“That doesn’t mean—”
J.D. told her about the photograph Maggie had found in Pete’s coat pocket. Denny started to argue but he stopped her and explained, “When she found it, the photo had been torn. Someone had ripped me out of the picture.
“Hang on, it gets crazier,” he continued before she could argue further. “Last night after I left you and Pete at the cabin, I went back to Max’s place. I’d seen what looked like a wallet caught between the radiator and the wall in his apartment.”
“A wallet?” Denny asked, sitting up a little straighter.
“It was Max’s.”
She frowned.
“It looks like Max didn’t have it with him the day he was killed.”
“Then that means Pete could have gotten the photo at any time. Max could have even given it to him.”
J.D. nodded.
“Where is the wallet now?” she asked.
“As I was leaving last night, someone relieved me of it.” He motioned to the latest lump on his head.
“Are you all right?” she cried.
He smiled, touched by her concern. “I’ll live, but this whole thing is getting more dangerous all the time.”
She turned to look out the window. A wall of pines, dark green against snow white, blurred past the pickup, throwing her face in shadow. “Pete couldn’t kill anyone, especially Max.”
They topped Grayling Pass, went by Fir Ridge Cemetery and dropped
into Gallatin Canyon, the road twisting through snowcapped pines and granite cliffs, skirting the Gallatin River. The once-frozen river now flowed around huge slabs of aquamarine ice—another sign that spring was coming.
He could tell that her mind was elsewhere by the way she worried her lower lip with her teeth. “You were right, though,” she said softly. “Pete’s pickup was at Horse Butte last night.” She turned a little in the seat to show her backside to him. “Do you see that?”
He slowed down as he stared at her posterior. Oh, yes, he saw that. He’d admired it numerous times lately.
“See it?” she asked, pointing to a spot on the thigh part of her jeans.
He glanced at the highway, then back at the spot on her thigh. “I see some dirt.”
“It’s mud. I brushed against Pete’s pickup this morning and got it on my jeans.”
It was the same as the stuff all over Denny’s Jeep.
“And that’s not all. Pete washed his pickup early this morning.” She straightened in her seat. “In his haste, he missed a few spots. He’s hiding something, but it’s not because he’s involved in Max’s murder.”
“How do you know that?” J.D. demanded. How could she keep defending Pete in light of everything they’d learned?
“I know Pete.” Her eyes clouded as she leaned back against the seat, her hair tumbling around her shoulders in a fiery waterfall.
She’s in love with him. The thought struck him like a fist. He felt sick. Then shocked that he could feel such pain. My God, you’re falling for her. He drove on, trying to sort out his feelings. He’d always cared for Denny but not like this. You just need sleep. And getting hit in the head can’t be helping, either. He laughed to himself, no longer able to blame the way he felt on anything but the truth. He was falling for her like a boulder off a high cliff. All he could think about was taking her in his arms. He’d never wanted to kiss anyone so much in his life.
He realized she was staring at him again. “What about Pete’s alibi?” she asked.
Reluctantly he recounted Maggie’s story about the barmaid in Missoula.
“So Pete wasn’t his usual charming self that night and the barmaid just didn’t remember him,” she said. “Why wouldn’t Pete be there if his band was there?”
She turned those wonderful green eyes on him. He wondered what they would be like fired with desire. And he wondered if he’d ever get the chance to see anything but anger in them.
“And what possible reason could Pete have to kill Max?” she demanded.
“I’m not saying it makes any sense,” he said, dragging himself away from her gaze.
Suddenly Denver bolted upright. “Oh, no. Maggie’s going to Missoula. She said to help a friend but I’ll bet she’s going up there to check out Pete’s story.”
J.D. sighed, wishing Maggie wouldn’t do that. “She could be in real danger. Do you know where she’s staying?”
Denver dug out a piece of paper from her pocket. “She gave me a number.” He watched her turn it in her fingers for a moment as if trying to read something written on it. “No.” He watched her bite her lower lip, tears shimmering in her eyes as she fought the tears, and knew whatever was on the paper had upset her deeply.
“What is it?” he asked.
She closed her fingers into a fist, crumpling the paper, and for a moment he thought she wasn’t going to tell him. “When I was on the phone with Maggie, I couldn’t find anything to write on. I found this in Pete’s wastebasket.” She held it out to him with shaking fingers. “It’s a receipt for the rental of a semitrailer.” She closed her fingers around it again.
“Pete rented a semi?” J.D. asked.
Her voice came out a whisper. “A semi almost ran Pete and me off the road on the way back from the funeral yesterday.”
“You think Pete rented a truck and hired someone to drive it just to scare you?” he asked, astounded to hear himself defending Pete. “Do you have any idea what it costs to rent a semi?”
“Sounds pretty ridiculous, doesn’t it?” She smiled a little. “Also, he was in the pickup with me and could have been killed, too.”
J.D. nodded. “Didn’t you tell me Pete sometimes does odd jobs around town? He could have rented it for one of his employers.”
“That must be what it is,” she said, looking relieved as she stuffed the receipt back into her pocket. “And I’m sure there’s an explanation for his pickup being on Horse Butte.”
“And why he washed it in such a big hurry this morning?” J.D. pressed as they neared the outskirts of Bozeman. The snow-covered Bridger Mountains glowed white gold in the sunlight, a backdrop for the bustling western college town.
“Yes,” she said, giving him a hard look. “When did you lose your faith in people?”
He glanced over at her, taken aback by the question. He had lost faith in people. And he knew exactly when it had happened. “I’m sure you read in the tabloids about my ex-business manager. I trusted him, Denny. He robbed me blind.”
He recognized the determined set of her jaw. She said, “I know Pete.”
He nodded, afraid just how well she knew him. “I thought I knew my business manager. Sometimes people disappoint you. Even people you care about.” And J.D. was afraid Pete Williams was going to disappoint them both. Either way, he intended to keep Pete as far away as possible from Denny.
DAVEY HAD REGAINED consciousness. As J.D. pushed open the door, he spotted Deputy Cline beside Davey’s bed.
“I figured you two would show up,” Cline said, not looking at all pleased. “Don’t you ever stay home and clean house or bake cookies or sew or something, Ms. McCallahan?”
“How are you doing?” Denver asked Davey.
“Okay, I guess,” he mumbled.
“Don’t you have some records to make or something, Garrison?” Cline asked.
Denver flashed J.D. a warning not to take the bait. He just smiled at her. “You don’t mind if we visit with Davey for a few moments in private, do you?” she asked Cline.
“This is the sheriff’s department’s business, Ms. McCallahan,” he said, crossing his arms over his belly. “And I’m the deputy sheriff for West Yellowstone, you might recall. I’m not leaving this room.”
J.D. gritted his teeth, but kept his mouth shut, just as he’d assured Denny he would. But it wasn’t easy.
“Do you feel up to talking?” she asked Davey as she took the chair beside his bed. He turned his face to the window and chewed at his cheek. “Last night you called me and asked me to meet you at Horse Butte—” she began.
Davey shot a look at Cline. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“What?” Denver exclaimed. J.D. saw the shock on her face. “Are you telling me you didn’t call and tell me to meet you at Horse Butte Fire Tower?”
“I’m telling you I don’t remember anything. All right?”
Denver stared at the boy. “I don’t understand.”
“The doc says it’s common with concussions,” Cline interrupted, sounding almost pleased by the turn of events. “He may never remember what happened.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Davey, I didn’t realize …” She touched his hand. He turned it only a fraction, just enough so that J.D. could have sworn it held a small scrap of paper.
“Look, I don’t know anything, okay?” Davey insisted.
J.D. watched the boy stealthily slip the scrap into Denver’s palm before he turned to the wall. “I just want to be left alone.”
“Satisfied?” Cline asked Denver. “Why don’t we step out into the hall?”
“I hope you’re feeling better soon,” she said to Davey, pocketing something as she followed Cline from the room. J.D. took one last look at the boy, then trailed after her.
“Too bad about the kid,” Cline said once Davey’s door closed behind them. “But I do have a lead on your uncle’s murder. You know that hitchhiker Max picked up at the Elkhorn Café just before he was killed?”
Denver made a face. “
What about him?”
“Did you know Max gave him a ride out of town?” Cline asked. “Davey saw it. He just told me.”
“I thought he couldn’t remember anything,” J.D. objected.
“Selective memory,” Cline said. “I imagine he won’t remember stealing that car, either, or trying what I suspect was extortion. I figure he planned to give you the information about the hitchhiker for a price. Of course.”
“You think that’s all he intended to tell me?” Denny asked.
Cline nodded. “The hitchhiker did it.”
“And how do you explain Max’s ransacked office?” J.D. asked. Denver shot him an “I-told-you-reporting-it-to-Cline-wouldn’t-do-any-good” look.
“This kind of thing happens all the time,” Cline said. “Someone gets himself killed, it hits the papers and kids sneak into the dead guy’s house and fool around.”
“If you thought it was just kids, why did you dust the place for fingerprints?” Denver asked.
“Police procedure.”
She glanced back at the boy’s room. “I suppose you can also explain why Davey seems … scared—as if he’s being threatened not to remember.”
Cline’s eyes narrowed. “You aren’t suggesting—”
“I didn’t say you were threatening him,” Denver quickly amended.
Cline took off his hat and turned the brim in his thick fingers. He glanced over at J.D. “You’re being awful quiet.” J.D. shrugged and looked away. “It’s obvious why the boy’s acting the way he is,” the deputy said, turning his attention back to Denver. “He’s looking at a minimum of a year in Miles City.”
Reform school? J.D. glanced back at Davey’s room. It all seemed too convenient. When the boy was well, he’d be shipped off. Denny seemed to be thinking the same thing.
“You’ll let me know when you pick up this hitchhiker?” she asked.
Cline grinned. “Trust me. You’ll be the first to know.” He walked them to J.D.’s pickup and waited until they’d driven away. J.D. watched in the rearview mirror as Cline went back into the hospital.