that back door.”
As she led him to her studio, she clasped her hands in front of her, twirling her ring around her middle finger. She usually didn’t invite people into her inner sanctum, unless they were other artists. Not even potential clients saw her workspace.
Dragging in a breath, she threw open the door and flicked on the light.
Jim froze at the doorway, his mouth hanging slightly ajar. “I’ve never seen anything like this before in my life.”
“Well—” she waved her arms around “—it’s an artist’s studio.”
“You’re very...productive.” He swiveled his head from side to side, taking in the work on the walls, canvases stacked in the corner and unfinished pieces languishing on easels stationed around the room. “And kind of schizophrenic.”
“I guess that’s one way of putting it.”
“You’ve got normal stuff over here—” he flung out his right arm “—and...different kind of stuff over here.”
“Landscape watercolors on the right and modern, abstract oils on the left.”
“Let me guess.” He pointed to a painting comprising of skyscrapers, a pair of eyes and a wolf head. “This is the expensive stuff.”
“Good guess.” She held her breath waiting for him to ask her to explain the painting.
He studied it for several seconds with his head to one side and then shrugged. “This room isn’t secure at all.”
She released the breath. “Because of the glass wall.”
“It must look incredible during the day, but at night anybody could peer right into this room. If you keep expensive work in here, I’d think you’d want to protect it better.”
“This is Timberline. I really didn’t expect to move back here and experience a crime wave.” She rapped on the glass. “What do you suggest?”
“This is the back door?” He navigated through the easels and stands and yanked on the handle of the sliding glass door. He crouched down and inspected the track. “You can put a rod in here for an extra measure of safety in case someone breaks the lock. A camera wouldn’t be a bad idea, either.”
Twisting her braid around her hand, she sighed. “I might as well go back to the big city.”
“That man who died tonight probably has nothing to do with you.”
“Don’t try to make me feel better now after you just did a security check on my home...and found it woefully inadequate.”
“Problem is, we don’t know what he was doing out there, why he was killed or who killed him.”
He straightened up, grasping the door handle for support. She would’ve offered a hand, but Jim didn’t seem like the type of man who would accept assistance easily.
“Hopefully the county sheriff’s department can figure that out. I don’t need any more people lurking around my cabin, causing trouble.”
“Jordan Young was after that TV reporter, not you, right?”
“Jordan turned out to be Beth St. Regis’s biological father. He’d murdered her mother, his mistress, twenty-five years ago and sold Beth on the black market when she was a baby. He just turned his attentions toward me because I was helping Beth.” She shivered and pressed her hands against her stomach. “Pure evil.”
“He figured if anyone noticed his daughter’s disappearance, he could pass it off as another Timberline kidnapping?”
“Something like that, but nobody noticed the disappearance of mother and daughter since Beth’s mother had moved away after the pregnancy and had just returned to Timberline. Young had kept them hidden away in his cabin until he killed Angie, Beth’s mother.”
“Makes you wonder.” He shoved one hand in his pocket and stared out the wall of windows at the forest lurking in the darkness beyond.
“Wonder what?”
“If there was an active black market for children, maybe that’s what happened to the Timberline Trio.”
“Not you, too.” She shut off the light in the studio. “Ever since Wyatt Carson kidnapped those three children to recreate the Timberline Trio so he could play the hero, everyone and his brother have been snooping around looking into the Timberline Trio case.”
“You think that’s a bad idea?” He’d turned from the window and his eyes glimmered in the dark room.
“It’s over.” She’d never admit to him that she had her own reasons for finding out what had happened twenty-five years ago. She’d never admit that to anyone, since curiosity about the case seemed to put a target on your back.
He said, “I suppose it’s never over for the families. Look what it did to Wyatt Carson. Losing his younger brother like that must’ve jarred something loose in his psyche for him to go on and kidnap those children years later.”
“You’re right.” She stepped back into the light from the hallway. “I don’t mean to be insensitive, but...”
“You’re Quileute.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” She jutted out her chin.
“Just that I know your people had some fears and superstitions around the whole Timberline Trio case.” He held up his hands. “Hey, they weren’t the only ones.”
As far as she could recall, Jim never had a problem with the Quileute, but his father was another story—loudmouthed bigot. Members of her tribe had been in a few barroom brawls with Slick Kennedy.
He’d gotten the nickname Slick because of his movie-star handsomeness and pumped-up physique. Her gaze tracked over Jim as he stood in the middle of the room, and she swallowed. The apple hadn’t fallen too far from that tree.
But Jim had never been in any trouble with her people, although all the guys her age had been wary of him because of his father, his brother and his father’s buddies—beer-drinking, bigoted bikers.
She lifted and dropped her shoulders quickly. “Yeah, there were some crazy stories going around at the time.”
He crossed the room and joined her at the door. “Anyway, you might want to look into securing this place better—at least until the deputies can figure out why that man dropped dead in the woods outside your cabin.”
“I’ll do that, thanks.” She closed the door to the studio. Halfway down the hallway, she turned suddenly and Jim bumped into her. She placed a palm against his chest where his heart thundered beneath her touch. “Sorry.”
His body tensed as he stepped away from her, and she dropped her hand.
“What are you doing back here, Jim?”
His lids lowered over his eyes and he studied her from beneath his thick, dark lashes. “Trying to get away from it all, just like you.”
