“Darcy,” Jake said, stepping out from behind the counter. “Good to see you again.”
“Thanks—you too.” She looked past him. “Is Gage around?”
“Yeah, he’s in the garage finishing up with the boards.” He jabbed a thumb over his shoulder toward the rear of the building. “You want me to grab him?”
“No, I’ll just head back.” It would give her a chance to look around. See what Gage did for a living.
“Just head down the back hall, make a right at the end and out through the door.”
“Got it. Thanks.” She followed Jake’s instructions, passing a gallery of photos running the length of the hall—pictures of the McKennas with families, couples, and individuals enjoying the outdoors. Gage was in nearly all the white-water rafting pics, an enormous grin on his face. The bigger the rapids, the wider his smile. It seemed the love of adventure ran through all the McKennas’ hearts.
Dragging herself away from the snapshots, she stepped through the rear door into the garage, though warehouse would have been more fitting. Sixty by eighty feet, the steel-frame structure held an enormous variety of adventure equipment—kayaks, rafts, paddles, climbing ropes, skis, snowboards. The McKennas had quite an operation. “Back in Black” blared over the speakers, the entire building practically vibrating with the bass.
Gage was bent over a snowboard, carefully applying wax. He stroked it—caressing the wax smoothly and evenly onto the board. Just as her dad had done with his beloved surfboard so many years ago.
She watched Gage’s long, lean fingers glide along the plane of the board a moment before interrupting.
“Hello,” she hollered, hoping to be heard over the music.
He looked up at her and cupped a hand to his ear. “What?”
“Sorry to interrupt,” she yelled as loudly as she could manage.
He lifted a remote and pressed a button. The music ceased.
“How’d it go?” he asked, not wasting any time.
“It went well.”
The sleeves of his Henley were rolled up, and her gaze dipped to his bare forearms. His sculpted muscles were a sight to behold.
“And?”
“I definitely want in.”
He arched a brow. “You believe him?”
“I do.” She’d asked him point-blank and truly believed him innocent, despite the evidence against him.
Gage set down the jar of wax and strode to her. “And you’re not just saying that to get some inside scoop?”
“I wouldn’t do that.” She wouldn’t lie to get ahead. It was a fixed line she’d vowed never to cross.
“Why? Because it’s beneath a reporter to lie?” He chuckled, his face dangerously close to hers.
“No—because it’s beneath me,” she said, holding his gaze.
He held her stare, and continued to hold it.
Her breath hitched, her heart throbbing.
“So we have a deal,” he said finally.
“We sure do.” She just prayed it wouldn’t be her undoing.
Landon knocked on the trailer door, amazed at the size of the thing. It could probably swallow his cabin whole.
The door swung open, and a woman in her early twenties greeted him. Clad in her tight ski pants and Under Armour cold gear top, her attire left little to the imagination.
Landon diverted his eyes.
“Can I help you?”
“I need to speak with Mr. Masterson.”
“It’s someone for you,” she called over her shoulder.
“Who is it?” a male voice asked.
She turned back to Landon. “Who are you?”
He flashed his badge. “Deputy Grainger.”
The door opened wider, and a middle-aged man stepped out. He had dark, thinning hair and a tall, lean physique. So this was Rick Masterson, a legend on the slopes and off.
“What’s this about?”
“I need to ask you a few questions about Karli Davis.”
Rick glanced at the lady. “Why don’t you give us some privacy, Brittany.”
“Sure thing.” She sashayed past Landon and down the metal steps.
“Come on in.” Rick held the door open.
The inside of the RV was even more elaborate than the outside. Leather couches lined the living area, all situated to face the enormous plasma TV mounted on the wall. Custom mahogany cabinetry and a lot of beveled glass finished the room. This guy liked the good life.
“Nice place you got here.”
“Well, it’s home nine months out of the year.” Rick picked up the remote and muted the game. “Have a seat. I can’t say I’m surprised you’re here.”
“Why’s that?”
“I know how rumors go around here.”
“Here?” Landon played dumb.
“Within the circuit.” Rick sat, draping his left arm across the sofa’s back. “All kinds of nonsense gets circulated.”
“Are you saying the relationship you and Karli had was nonsense?”
“Relationship?” Rick laughed. “Is that what you heard?”
“What I heard was that you two had been intimate.”
Rick swiped a finger across the bottom of his nose. “Where’d you hear that?”
“I’m not at liberty to say. Is it true?”
Rick lifted his glass and jiggled the ice against the crystal.
“Mr. Masterson?”
“I’m a married man, Deputy Grainger. I’m sure you can appreciate my delicate position.” He drained the remaining amber liquid from his glass.
“And I’m sure you can appreciate the fact that a woman has been brutally murdered.”
“Of course. But Karli’s death has nothing to do with me.”
“How can you be certain?”
“Hold on a minute, there. You’re not suggesting I had anything to do with her death, are you?”
“Not at all. I’m just trying to get the full picture.”
“There was no Karli and me in the picture.”
“Ever?”
Rick rubbed the back of his neck.
“Mr. Masterson, it’d be best if you simply told me what I need to know, and then we can both move on.”
Rick cleared his throat. “You’ll keep this conversation between us?”
“As long as it isn’t pertinent to the investigation.”
“Fine.” Rick stood and moved to the bar. He lifted the brandy decanter, offering to pour Landon a glass.
“No thanks.” He didn’t drink on duty, period.
“Suit yourself.” Rick refilled his glass.
“You were defining what sort of relationship you and Karli shared,” he said, trying to keep Masterson on track.
“We had sex. That clear enough for you?”
“Once, multiple times?”
“Off and on last season, until she got hurt.”
“Hurt?”
“Karli took a bad fall near the end of last season. Tore her ACL.”
That explained the scar tissue he and Booth saw on her knee. “And she was already back to competing?” Impressive.
“Karli was tough.”
“People must have admired that.”
Rick laughed. “Admiration and Karli rarely went together in folks’ minds.”
“Oh yeah—what did?”
“Having a good time or a really lousy one,” he said, taking a sip of his brandy.
Landon liked the guy less and less with each passing comment. “Meaning?”
“Karli was either the life of the party or she was ruining it for everyone else.”
“Could you give me an example?”
“Sure. No one expected Karli to be back on the slopes so soon. An ACL tear usually puts an athlete out for a full season, sometimes longer. But Karli hardly missed a beat. Her first event back, she competed fiercely. When she won, the gal in second place congratulated her on the podium, and Karli remarked something like ‘Why would I want congratulations from the first loser?’ That was Karli. Tongue of a
n asp.”
“She ever threaten to tell your wife about you two?”
Rick flinched.
“I’ll take that as a yes.”
“Look, Karli spouted a lot of junk. It didn’t mean she’d go through with it.”
“Guess you no longer have to worry about that.”
Rick jiggled his glass. “I see what you are doing.”
Landon sat back. “And what is that?”
“You’re trying to find a scapegoat for that McKenna kid.”
“Why would I want to do that?”
“Because this is his hometown. What do you have, all of three hundred people in this place?”
“Six hundred and nine, last count.”
“Whatever. My kid’s school has more students than your town.”
“And your point is?” Landon loathed men like Masterson, men who thought money and power dictated the rules.
“I know how you small-town folks are. You protect your own.” His face reddened—an ugly mix of alcohol and anger. “Well, I’ve got news for you, Barney Fife; I’m not going to be the patsy that gets railroaded so the stupid kid can walk.”
“It’s Deputy Grainger, and I suggest you calm down.”
“And I suggest you get out of here before I call my lawyer.”
“I’m not done with my questions.”
“Well, I’m done answering.”
The theme from Top Gun played as Gage fished his phone out of his pocket. “’Ello?”
“It’s Piper.” Country music blared in the background.
“Where are you?”
“Never mind that. I think I’m on to something.”
Of course she was. “Piper, Cole said to let Darcy handle it.”
“Which is why I’m calling you. I need you to find Darcy and tell her to check out Rick Masterson.”
“As in the guy in charge of the Freeride Circuit?”
“One and the same.”
“What’s he got to do with Reef?”
“Not Reef—Karli.” Noise heightened in the background. “Look, I can’t talk right now. Tell Darcy.” She hung up.
Gage looked at his phone. What was Piper up to now?
Having to see Darcy St. James for the third time in one day wasn’t Gage’s idea of fun, but a strange enthusiasm coursed through him as he climbed the Caribou Inn’s front steps.
A quick call to Ida at the front desk had confirmed that Darcy was in for the evening, apparently enjoying complimentary tea and dessert in the dining area of the inn.
Wiping his boots on the mat, Gage pulled the hat from his head and ran a hand through his hair.
“Thanks, Ida.” He winked at the owner behind the counter as he entered. She blushed, her wrinkles bunching in the delightful way his grandmother’s always had when she smiled.
He stepped through the lobby and into the dining room and scanned the full tables looking for Darcy’s expressive face. She was seated at the table in front of the stone fireplace, opposite another blonde. He stepped toward the pair.
With a chuckle, Darcy lifted her teacup. “You’re kidding?”
The woman laughed, the sound prickling icicles along his spine. “Dead serious,” she said.
Meredith. He stopped less than a foot from their table.
“There he was, covered in poison ivy from head to toe, but he’d rescued the dumb turtle.”
“That’s hilarious, and—” Darcy’s gaze met his, and she stopped midsentence. “Gage.” Color rushed her cheeks.
Meredith’s laughter settled, and she turned with a smile. “Your ears must have been burning. We were just talking about you.”
“I’ll bet you were.”
Meredith added a spoonful of sugar to her tea. “What are you doing here?”
He glared at Darcy. “I have no idea.”
Excusing herself as gracefully as possible, Darcy forced herself to maintain an unhurried manner as she strolled from the room. As soon as she was out of Meredith’s line of sight, she booked it toward the front door.
Not bothering to waste time grabbing her coat, she bolted outside and down the steps after Gage. With his long legs, a single step in his easy gait took her several hurried ones to keep up.
She knew exactly what he was thinking. She could read his anger from the back of his head—his neck stiff, tension marring his usually relaxed shoulders.
“Gage,” she called.
He ignored her.
“Gage.” The cold stung her hands. She balled her fingers into a fist, hoping to warm them.
He stopped at the street’s edge, his passage blocked by vehicles.
She caught up to him. “Hey.” She tugged his arm.
He turned, his dark eyes fierce and yet somehow sorrowful. “I suppose you got what you wanted.”
“What . . . I?”
“She tell you the whole tragic tale?”
“I don’t . . .” She frowned. What tragic tale?
Gage shook his head. “You know, you’re good. You actually had me going. Your whole ‘I’m only after the truth and it’s beneath me to lie’ speech. I actually started to think there was more to you, but my first instinct was right. You’re nothing but a leech.”
The heat of his words clashed with the frigid wind slashing against her legs.
“It’s not what you think. There weren’t any empty tables, so she asked if she could share mine. I didn’t bring you up.”
“Right. You really expect me to believe that?”
“It’s the truth.”
“You were clearly talking about me.”
“She started sharing about life in Yancey and . . .”
“I’m sure you just ate that up.”
“I am trying to discover the truth about what happened to Karli Davis—not what occurred between you and Meredith Blake.” While she was insanely curious—she simply couldn’t picture the snobby assistant D.A. and the intense McKenna brother together—she’d promised to keep her focus on Karli and not dig into Gage’s past.
“Then try to remember that.”
14
“Grainger,” Slidell hollered the minute Landon stepped foot in the station.
Landon bent his head, knowing exactly what his boss’s tone meant. Bracing for a tirade, he stepped into Slidell’s office.
Mayor Cox leaned against the file cabinets, his sleeves rolled up, his face a pulsating shade of red.
Great. The day just kept getting better and better.
Slidell rocked back in his chair. “I just got off the phone with Mr. Masterson’s lawyer. He says you questioned his client without notifying him of his rights and without counsel present.”
“I wasn’t interrogating the man; I was simply asking him a few questions.” He glanced at the thermostat. What did they have it set on, eighty?
“Masterson says you threatened him.”
“I did no such thing.”
“Well, his lawyer believes otherwise. We’ll be lucky if he doesn’t sue us.”
“You’ve got to be kidding.”
“This is no joke, Deputy Grainger. Mr. Masterson is threatening to pull the entire Freeride event from our town. Do you have any idea how much income will be lost if he does?” Cox dabbed his head with a handkerchief—the motion odd in the dead of winter.
“I asked the man a few questions. Which is well within my jurisdiction.”
Slidell leaned forward, sweat pooling in the crease of his chin. “I’m your jurisdiction, and I’m telling you to stay away from Masterson.”
“You’re telling me not to do my job?”
“On the contrary, I’m telling you exactly what your job is. Stop harassing upstanding businessmen like Rick Masterson and get this case closed.”
“Masterson? Upstanding?” Landon suppressed a chuckle.
“Precisely.” Mayor Cox fumed. “I’ll be lucky if I can convince Mr. Masterson not to pull the championship.”
Thoreau tapped on the door.
“What?” Slidell snapped.
“Craig says he’ll be by in an hour to fix the radiator.”
“An hour?” Slidell roared.
Landon’s cell rang. “I’ve got to take this.” He didn’t give Slidell or Cox time to argue, just stepped into the hall. “Grainger.”
“Deputy Grainger, it’s Ashley Clark.”
“Hi, Ashley. How are you doing?”
“Not well. Look, I don’t know what kind of outfit you’re running here, but it is completely unprofessional. How could you send her here?”
Landon pressed his hand to his ear in an attempt to mute out the clamor of the station behind him. “Send who? I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Reef’s sister.”
“What?” A horrid feeling settled into the pit of his gut. Piper.
“She showed up at qualifying today, said she needed to follow up on the questions you asked.”
“She did what?”
“Sending the killer’s sister to interrogate me. I’ve never—”
“Let me stop you right there. I did not send Piper.”
“But she said . . .”
“I can only imagine what she said, but I give you my word—I didn’t send her.”
“You’re saying she just came on her own?”
“I’m afraid so. She’s convinced her brother is innocent.”
“Look, I know what I saw.”
“And I appreciate you telling me.”
“But I shouldn’t have to explain it personally to Reef’s family.”
“I agree, and believe me, I’ll take care of this.”
“She won’t come around again?”
“Not unless she wants to end up in jail for interfering with an ongoing murder investigation.”
“I don’t want to get her in trouble. I just want her to stop coming around. She’s too sweet. Having to see the hurt in her eyes. Having her question what I say. It makes me feel like a heel—or worse yet, dishonest. Which I am not.”
“You have my word. She won’t bother you again. I guarantee it.”
“Thank you, Deputy Grainger. It’s hard enough being considered a stool pigeon by the team. Everyone likes Reef. Well . . . most everyone.”
“Who doesn’t?”
After a brief pause, she continued. “I don’t know. I’m just saying not everyone on the team is buddy-buddy with everyone else. It’s a competition, after all.”