annoyed him. Who did she think she was to utter challenges? She could damn well answer his questions. He rocked back on his heels and stared at her. “Why did you kill Jackson?”
“Who’s Jackson?” she countered with what appeared to be genuine puzzlement.
Sean resisted slamming his fist into her face. It wasn’t in him to hurt a woman—no matter what she’d done. However, he had no intention of revealing that fact. He might extract more answers if she feared him. “Come on, lady. I don’t have time to play twenty questions.” He jerked her to her feet.
A moan broke from her tightly compressed lips and she slumped and would have fallen if he hadn’t caught her. For her thin frame, she was surprisingly heavy. Remembering her strength, he realized she must be lean muscle.
Frowning, he eased her down onto Jackson’s bedroll. “You hurt?”
She didn’t answer but curled her legs under her and tried to scoot away from him like a wounded animal in a trap.
He pressed a firm hand to her shoulder. “Hold still, lady, before you do more damage.”
“The name’s Carlie. Carlie Myer.”
Bill’s wife? Stunned, Sean rocked back on his heels, suspicious as hell. She couldn’t be Carlie Myer, could she? Two years ago, Bill had been one of Sean’s best friends. They’d hunted and fished together, and Bill even owned a two percent share in the mine. Sean had been sorry when Bill had left Alaska and gone to Florida but was happy for his friend when he’d married a beautiful blond cop named Carlie and settled down.
Last year, Bill’s death had hit him hard. He’d even written the widow a letter of condolence, but until today, Sean had never set eyes on Bill’s wife.
And now both Jackson and Bill were dead.
Last time Sean had flown into town, he’d picked up a surprising message from his friend’s widow. She’d wanted to visit him, so Sean had laid in supplies. Two weeks ago, he’d been expecting Carlie Myer’s visit. In all the scenarios he’d played over in his mind about why she’d wanted to see him, he’d never imagined her turning up alone at the Dog Mush. He’d expected her to come to Alaska to check out her inherited investment in the mine. When she hadn’t shown up in Fairbanks on the prearranged date, he’d figured she’d changed her mind and stayed in Florida.
Now she’d arrived, literally out of nowhere. And finding her way into his neck of the mountains wasn’t easy, especially for a woman born and bred in Florida’s Suncoast. Perhaps she wasn’t alone? Maybe an accomplice had run off into the woods and left her for dead. Warily he looked over his shoulder, but he spied nothing amiss.
Once more he reminded himself that if she was Carlie Myer, she was a cop and sworn to uphold the law. Bill had been a straight arrow, unlikely to hook up with a cold-blooded killer. Bill might have judged her incorrectly, but his friend had been keenly perceptive about people’s characters. And just knowing this woman had been married to his friend made Sean question his previous conclusion that she was a murderer. Still, he’d found her with the knife in her hand.
She’s your best friend’s widow.
Yet minutes ago he’d been so sure she’d killed Jackson. He’d seen Jackson’s blood on her left sleeve, the knife clenched in her fingers. The hard-packed floor of the mine gave him no sign that anyone else had or had not been here.
But she’d said she was right-handed.
So why was the blood on her left sleeve?
She’s a cop.
Had she really tried to swipe him with the knife? Or had she sat up groggy the way she’d claimed, and before she’d gotten her bearings, he’d attacked? Sean was no longer certain. The facts didn’t add up.
“How did you get here?” he asked. “Why did you kill the old prospector?”
Carlie didn’t answer. Once again she’d slipped into unconsciousness. Had she been hurt in the fight with Jackson? Sean’s suspicions might be diminishing but they didn’t vanish. Two of his friends had encountered this woman—and both of them were dead. Still, he’d been so ready to blame her for Jackson’s death, he hadn’t checked to see if anyone else was near.
Perhaps both she and Jackson had been attacked. If she hadn’t killed Jackson, then the person who had could be after her, too. The killer could be outside on the mountain, getting away even now.
Sean knelt beside her and covered her with a spare blanket. When she moaned and turned her head to the side, he spied blood and a nugget-sized bump three inches above the base of her neck, and he winced. So that’s why she’d passed out. Had she sustained the injury while fighting Jackson? Or had someone else hit her? Either way, she probably had a concussion and shouldn’t be left to sleep. He shook her shoulder, trying to wake her up. Not even one long eyelash fluttered. But the bleeding had almost stopped.
As he stood, his hand brushed a piece of plastic that must have slipped from her pocket during their struggle. Curious, he read the name on the driver’s license. Carlie Myer. Bill’s wife—no, widow, he corrected. Absently, he slipped her license into his pocket, pleased he’d confirmed her identity, but found it odd she carried no purse or backpack.
Sean considered untying her, believing he’d misjudged the woman. But first he’d look around.
Deciding there was little more he could do for Carlie until she awakened, Sean took more careful notice of the mine. Jackson’s supplies, camp stove and tools were neatly stacked along one wall. Dishes cleaned and set out to dry from breakfast indicated the prospector had eaten alone.
Exiting the mine carrying Jackson’s body, Sean knelt and gently set Jackson’s body down. He searched the hard-packed earth but saw no signs of struggle, no footprints in the dirt. Normal sounds of the forest had returned. Arctic warblers fluttered in the willow thickets, crickets chirped and Dall sheep grazed in the high grasslands.
Through the first flutters of snow, he looked below to the town of Kesky, population one-hundred and two. They had a bank, a post office, a church, a grocery and hardware store and a one-roomed schoolhouse. In a town that size, a stranger would be noticed, especially an attractive woman. He doubted she’d passed through Kesky without being spotted. Had someone followed her up the mountain?
He and Jackson employed twenty men to work the main mine. None of the miners would have allowed Carlie to make the rough climb to the Dog Mush unescorted. Maybe she’d come up with Jackson. But why?
Unfortunately, she hadn’t divulged in her letter the reason she’d been so intent on coming to see Sean. When she awakened, he intended to get some answers.
He returned to the cave, lit an oil lamp and examined the unconscious woman again. She displayed no other signs of injury. Her face was unnaturally pale, but neither cut nor bruised. Her chest rose and fell with rhythmic precision, and from the way she’d fought, he doubted she had any broken limbs.
She let out another groan and turned onto her side, tilting her neck at an odd angle. Hoping her sole injury was the bump on her head, Sean did his best to make her more comfortable, untying her hands, folding a blanket to pillow her head.
He should have known Bill wouldn’t have let himself be hogtied by anyone less than a beauty. But did those lush lips and dark eyelashes hide a mystery that could get a man killed?
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