Brenda said with sympathy. “But if they were in your shoes, they’d do what they had to do to survive, Susan.”
Susan glared at the FBI agent, her wound as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. Her unborn baby, Sarah, had been dead when she’d miscarried her in the emergency room. Dead from Dirk’s fist. Her baby could have lived had it not been for massive brain trauma. That was one of the few times Susan had cried. She had passed out from loss of blood and they had taken her dead daughter away.
When she regained consciousness two days later, Susan had wanted to see Sarah, but they’d said she was already in the morgue and had undergone an autopsy. She had sat in that private room, her arms aching to hold the daughter she’d carried. Something vital had fled from her spirit. She’d never got to say goodbye to her baby. Susan hadn’t cared if she lived or died that day. But Brenda pulled her through.
Depression settled in on Susan as she recalled those stark, terrible days after her miscarriage. Looking at the folder, she slowly opened it with trembling hands. “I guess a sane person would be scared, wouldn’t they? I mean, of Dirk being on the loose again.”
Shrugging, Brenda murmured, “Hon, you’re still going through the grief of losing your baby. I can see that. Grief has a funny way. Sometimes, it’s fast. Sometimes, it’s long and drawn-out.”
“It will be forever for me, Brenda,” she said, skimming the information in the file.
“Your heart was ripped out.”
Just the warmth burning in Brenda’s eyes made Susan rally. “It still feels ripped out. Sometimes I wonder if it will ever heal.”
“When you meet the right man and get pregnant and have a second child, your healing will begin,” Brenda answered softly. The silence settled between them. Finally, the FBI agent continued, “I already have a moving team over at your apartment. They’re boxing everything up for you. All you have to do is take this airline ticket and go. I’ve got a driver waiting downstairs to take you to the airport.”
Stunned, Susan realized she wouldn’t even be going back to her apartment. Her cocoon was gone. Destroyed, once more. Once again by Dirk Payson. Feeling horribly vulnerable, Susan rubbed her arm. “I can’t even go home….”
“Home is in Jackson Hole, hon. Look at it this way, you get to spend Christmas in a gorgeous postcard place. Don’t worry, you’ll make friends and things will buck up. We’ll keep you apprised about Payson. If I find out anything, you’ll be the first to know. I promise.”
CHAPTER TWO
CADE HATED CHRISTMAS EVE. Hand tightening around the wheel of the Sheriff’s Department’s Chevy Tahoe, he forced himself to pay attention to the road. It was snowing, but not a blizzard. Still, at 8:00 p.m., the recently plowed roads shone with potential black ice.
He had duty until midnight, and that was fine with him. He didn’t feel like going back to his home on his parents’ ranch to celebrate Christmas morning with them. In fact, the heavy blanket of sadness enveloped him as it always did at this time of year. Cade knew he wasn’t fit company even for the town drunk. His radio crackled with traffic from the dispatcher. There was an accident ten miles south of Jackson Hole. With this kind of weather and snow, it was messy for any driver unlucky enough to be out in it.
The highway leading back from Star Valley, about fifty miles from Jackson Hole, was dicey. Most of the deputies lived there and drove that distance to work. They couldn’t afford the posh digs of the rich and famous who had taken over the sleepy ranching town of Jackson Hole. Cade considered himself lucky: his parents were from a long line of cattle ranchers come from earlier trappers. He had a home on their ranch, and it was a short drive from there to the sheriff’s office.
Cade looked at his rearview mirror and didn’t see any traffic. As he drove slowly up around the mountains, with the river on the other side of the roadway, Cade focused on his driving. Rounding a curve, he saw a dark SUV that had skidded into the jagged mountain cliff. Next to it, a car with its flashing lights was parked. Though visibility was poor, he noticed a woman in a black coat at the driver’s side of the smashed SUV. She was trying desperately to open the vehicle’s door.
After flipping on his lights, Cade quickly called in his position and requested an ambulance. As he drove closer, his heart began to pound with dread. He knew this kind of scene far too well. Worse, he recognized the dark blue Chevy SUV up ahead. It looked like Tom Hartmann’s vehicle. Tom, his best friend and a deputy, had been killed six months earlier in a shoot-out with drug dealers driving through Star Valley with their cocaine.
Cade tried to bury the memory as he pulled up to the other side of the wrecked vehicle. As he passed it, he saw the familiar license plate and a new wave of pain flooded him. It was Hartmann’s SUV and his widow, Lily, was the driver. Was their infant, Jenny, in there, too? Another nightmare, the one from two years ago, threatened to stagger Cade to the point where he couldn’t think straight. He was a deputy sheriff. He should know to stay calm during this kind of crisis. But he’d lost too much. Wrenching the wheel, he placed his vehicle on the upside of the wreck so no car coming around the curve would run into it.
Cade grabbed his coat and radioed in once more to the dispatcher. He gave the information about Lily Hartmann’s car and asked for a fire truck. Choking on bile, Cade swung the door open, unlatched his seat belt and pulled on his heavy nylon jacket. He ran carefully on the side of the road, mud splattering across his polished black boots, and aimed for the driver’s side of the door.
As Cade rounded the SUV, he saw the woman in the black wool coat and a red knit cap trying to tug open the smashed door. With his flashlight, he approached.
“I’m Deputy Garner, Ma’am. Step aside so I can see what’s going on…”
Rachel willingly leaped back. She’d cut her hand on the twisted metal. It was dark. All she could see were the blazing lights of the sheriff’s cruiser on the other side. The man was tall, his voice deep and calm. “I—I’m so glad you’re here. I was following this SUV and it suddenly swerved and crashed into this cliff.”
Cade barely heard the shaken woman’s hoarse voice, but he was aware of the terror in her large eyes. The door couldn’t be opened unless they used the Jaws of Life. The fire department carried two sets and they would bring them out. The window, however, was smashed in. As he flashed the light into the cab, a scream lurched into his throat, but Cade swallowed the sound.
Lily Hartmann, the wife of his best friend, lay bloody and unconscious, the air bag half empty on top of her. She hadn’t worn her seat belt. Cade saw the hole in the window above the steering wheel. Lily had struck with such impact that her head had gone through the windshield. He thrust his hand through the shattered window and placed his fingers on her neck, searching for a pulse. As he shifted the light, Lily’s black hair shone across her white, still face.
Oh, God, she’s dead….
“There’s a baby in the backseat!” the woman cried with renewed urgency. “You have to help the baby! I can’t get the door open!”
Shaken, Cade combatted his personal horror over Lily’s death. Nothing would bring her back. He had to act now! He jerked his hand out of the window and twisted around. As he moved swiftly to the other side of the vehicle where the other door might open, the woman followed him closely.
Cade remembered Tom and Lily, before they married, asking if he would be the godfather to their children. They’d witnessed the devastation of Cade’s
