“It’s just ’cause I had that other trouble. That’s why they looked at me—and because of the dead dog, only he wasn’t dead.”
A chill snaked up Beth’s spine. She definitely wanted to talk to this man later if he was telling the truth, but not now and not here in the middle of a dense forest with only the tigers to hear her screams.
“Well, I’d better catch up to my husband. A...are you going to the site, too?”
“No, ma’am. I’m just taking the shortcut to my house.” He raised one hand.
Then he turned his bike to the right and her shoulders dropped as she released the trigger on her pepper spray.
“Ma’am?”
She stopped, and without turning around, she said, “Yes?”
“Be careful out there. The Quileute swear this forest is haunted.”
“I will and I’m...we’re not afraid of ghosts—my husband and I.”
He emitted a noise, which sounded a lot like a snort, and then he wheeled his bike down another path, leaving the echo of crackling leaves.
Beth brushed her hair from her face and strode forward. He wouldn’t be hard to locate later—an ex-con on a bicycle who’d been questioned about the kidnappings. Maybe he’d have some insight into the Timberline Trio.
She tromped farther into the woods but never lost sight of the trail as it had been well used recently. What was wrong with people who wanted to see where three kids and a woman had been held against their will?
If she didn’t have a damned good excuse for being out here, she’d be exploring the town or sitting in front of the fireplace at her hotel enjoying a caramel latte with extra foam, reading—okay, she’d probably be reading a murder mystery or a true-crime book about a serial killer. The Pacific Northwest seemed to have those in spades.
A piece of soggy, yellow tape stirring in the breeze indicated that she’d reached the spot. Law enforcement had drilled orange caution cones into the ground around the mine opening and had boarded over the top. Nobody would be able to use this abandoned mine for any kind of nefarious purpose again.
She nudged one of the cones with the toe of her boot—it didn’t budge. Wedging her hands on her hips, she surveyed the area. No recognition pinged in her chest. Her breathing remained calm, too, so nothing here was sending her into overdrive.
Not that she’d really expected it. Wyatt Carson had chosen this place to stash his victims because he’d discovered it or had searched for someplace to hide the children, not because he’d known it from twenty-five years before when he was just a child himself, when his own brother Stevie Carson had been snatched.
But one kidnap story might lead to another. Maybe the Timberline Trio had been held here before...before what? If she really were one of the Timberline Trio, those children obviously weren’t dead. So, why had they been kidnapped? Why had she been kidnapped?
There was something about this place—Timberline—that struck a chord within her. As soon as she’d seen that stuffed frog in the window of the tourist shop during a TV news story about the Wyatt Carson kidnappings, she’d known she had to come here. She could be Heather Brice, and she had to find out.
Crouching down, she scooted closer to the entrance of the mine. When Carson had found it, the mine had a cover that he’d then blocked with a boulder. All that had been removed and cleared out.
She flattened herself onto her belly and army-crawled between the cones. Someone had already pried back and snapped off a piece of wood covering the entrance.
With her arms at her sides, she placed her forehead against one slat of wood and peered into the darkness below. She’d like to get down there just to have a look around. Maybe the local sheriff’s department would allow it if she promised to get their mugs on TV.
A swishing noise coming up behind her had her digging the toes of her boots into the mushy earth. She’d just put herself into an extremely vulnerable position—an idiotic thing to do with that ex-con roaming the woods. A branch snapped. She slipped her hand inside her pocket and gripped the pepper spray, her finger in position.
A man’s voice yelled out. “Hey!”
Then a strong vise clamped around her ankle. This was it. In one fluid motion, she dragged the pepper spray from her pocket, rolled to her back, aimed and fired.
The man released her ankle immediately and staggered back, one arm flung over his face.
Beth jumped to her feet, holding the spray in front of her with a shaky hand, ready to shoot again.
Her attacker cursed and spit.
Beth’s eyebrows shot up. The ex-con had gotten bigger...and meaner.
Then he lowered his hands from his face and glared at her through dark eyes streaming with tears. Those eyes widened and he cursed again.
He cleared his throat and coughed. “Beth St. Regis. I should’ve known it was you.”
Beth dropped her pepper spray and clasped her hand over her heart. She’d rather be facing a tiger right now than Duke Harper—the man she’d loved and betrayed.
Duke’s eyes stung and his nose burned, lighting his lungs on fire with every breath he took. Even through his tears, he couldn’t mistake the woman standing in front of him, her shoulder-length, strawberry blond hair disheveled and her camera-ready features distorted by surprise and...fear.
She should be afraid—very afraid after the way she’d used him.
He kicked at the pepper spray nestled in the green carpet between them. “Is that the stuff I gave you?”
“I...I think so.”
“Then I’ll count myself lucky because that’s expired. You should’ve replaced it last year, but if you had, I wouldn’t be standing upright forming words.” He pulled up the hem of his T-shirt to his face and wiped his tears and his nose.
Miss Perfect would hate that he’d just used his shirt as a handkerchief—and that was fine with him. He peered at her through blurry eyes and she still looked perfect—damn it.
She wrinkled her nose. “I’m sorry. I thought you were an ex-con attacking me.”
She must be referring to Gary Binder, unless there were other ex-cons in Timberline who lived out this way. He’d already done his homework on the case but he had no intention of sharing his info with her. Oh, God, she had to be here for the same case he’d been assigned to investigate.
He narrowed his already-narrowed eyes. “You’re doing a story for your stupid show on the Timberline Trio, aren’t you?”
“That stupid show, as you call it, got a point-six rating last year, more than half of those viewers in the prime demographic.” She tossed her hair over one shoulder as only Beth St. Regis could.
“Junk
