Scarlet was extremely grateful—and still a little incredulous—that Diego had not only come to help her, but that he had also come so quickly and with a contingent of fellow agents.
She knew Brett, of course. He and Diego had worked together for years—she’d often felt that Brett knew her husband better than she did. Of course, in their line of work learning to think almost in tandem was imperative.
She still thought the world of Brett. He had been a good friend to both of them during the divorce, even helping her pack up when it had been time to leave.
But she’d never heard of the other agents or this “special” unit Diego and Brett had joined. She still didn’t know anything, if it came to that.
Didn’t matter. It had to be one hell of a unit if they’d gotten here in less than twenty-four hours simply because she’d asked her ex-husband for help.
She’d heard—the whole country had heard—about the Miami zombie case, and she’d known that Diego and Brett had been assigned to it. She had to assume that Matt and Meg had worked it, too, and that it was somehow connected to whatever made their special unit, well, special. She’d thought several times about calling Diego, just to see how he was weathering the stress. The pressure on law enforcement must have been terrible. She knew how he took his cases—or, really, the people who were part of them—to heart. The temptation to pick up the phone had been almost overwhelming at times.
But then she’d reminded herself that maybe he’d moved on. Maybe he had a girlfriend. Diego was a natural flirt. He simply liked people in general, despite what he did for a living and the kinds of people he so frequently had to deal with. Women, especially, naturally liked him. It was those dark good looks and killer smile. They couldn’t help themselves.
He had never betrayed her during their two years together, but they weren’t married anymore. She hadn’t just left him, she’d left the state.
He’d had the right to move on.
The thought that he might well have done so disturbed her more than she wanted to admit, and that, as much as anything else, had kept her from making the call. Being so far away, cradled by the mountains, had acted like a buffer zone. It was almost as if she was looking back at a story about two other people.
But after Brett, Matt and Meg had left for the police station, and Ben and Trisha had headed back to the main house to check on their five remaining guests, Scarlet discovered that she suddenly felt incredibly awkward with the man she had once known better than anyone else in the world.
Admittedly, she’d been drawn to Diego at the outset because of the way he looked. He was tall and fit, and there was something of the aristocrat about his features, as if he was descended from a line of Spanish kings. She could see him wearing a conquistador’s helmet and posing for a gold coin.
He was also charming, and quick to make her laugh. They were opposites in many ways. He was daring and quick to make friends, to dive into a situation or experience. She had been decidedly shy, at least at first, always wanting to know what made things tick. At first it had been great. He had taught her to be spontaneous, as daring as he was. She had taught him to look beneath the surface of things. They’d both learned about compromise.
She had believed then and still did that the reason they’d stopped talking was that they were trying to be considerate of each other, to avoid upsetting each other. She’d told him that she didn’t need an explanation when he needed to work all hours. And she didn’t. But maybe that had made him think she didn’t care about his job, so he tried too hard not to bring work home.
And then she’d lost the baby. A baby he hadn’t even known existed.
She knew this was not the time to analyze where and why they’d gone wrong, or why she had felt the irresistible need to flee from their marriage and from him, to ask for the divorce.
And still he was there for her the minute she called.
Now the others were gone and it was just the two of them. He wanted to hear everything from her point of view, starting with the pictures that had mysteriously appeared on her camera and then going on to cover her experience at the police station and anything else that might be relevant. So now they were up in the apartment, at the little table in the kitchen. She’d brewed more coffee and was sitting opposite him, much as she’d sat opposite Lieutenant Gray the night before. She kept noticing his hands. His fingers were long, his nails clipped and clean. She’d always loved his hands; they looked like a pianist’s hands. Actually, he did play, but only for pleasure. He claimed he was awful, but in fact he was anything but.
She looked away, avoiding his eyes. She’d been anxious to be alone with him so she could tell him about the mannequin. But now that the moment was here, she was afraid he was going to think she was an idiot. He dealt with true evil every day. How was she going to explain her terror of a mannequin in a way that didn’t sound ridiculous?
Then again, how the hell had the damned thing wound up at the foot of her bed?
Apparently he could still read her better than anyone else could, because he immediately asked, “What is it? Please, Scarlet, two people have been murdered. Tell me what you didn’t want to say in front of everyone else.”
She couldn’t say it. Too silly. Or maybe not. There was still the possibility that someone made of flesh and blood, and in possession of a key, had moved it to terrify her.
“A mannequin moved,” she blurted out.
She’d expected skepticism—perhaps polite, nearly hidden skepticism, but skepticism nevertheless.
“Okay, I saw a bunch of mannequins down in the museum,” he said. “But which one, and how did it move?”
She let out a long breath. “Nathan Kendall—and he’s not downstairs. He’s in my living room about fifteen feet away from us. Yesterday he fell over on his own.” She hesitated, then went on. “And when I woke up this morning, he was standing at the foot of my bed.”
To her amazement, he didn’t look at her with sympathy, as if the thin mountain air was affecting her brain.
He simply asked, “Who has keys to this place, Scarlet? The first thing, always, is to look for the simplest and most likely possibility.”
“To the best of my knowledge, only Ben, Trisha and myself. And I just can’t believe that either one of them would try to scare me that way.” She met his eyes as if begging him to understand. “Diego, I was never afraid to be here. I loved this place from the moment I arrived. But I swear to you, I’m not crazy. The statue was on its pedestal at the bottom of the stairs when I went to bed after we finally got back from the police station. Ben and Trisha went with me to make sure the museum and the apartment were safe. I went back down with them and locked the door once they left. I woke up in the middle of the night, but I had a cup of tea and went back to bed. I’d had the feeling the whole time that I was being watched, though. When I woke up in the morning, Nathan Kendall was standing at the foot of my bed. Do you think someone got in and put him there without me hearing a thing?”
“First, thank God you’re all right. And second, maybe. That’s certainly the logical explanation, and we always look for the logical explanation first.”
“I don’t know which is scarier—the concept that a mannequin moved on its own, or that someone was in here and put it at the foot of my bed to scare me to death. You know me, Diego—I don’t get spooked easily. I’ve studied mummies and excavated grave sites—you name it. But that mannequin…and those pictures… Ben and I both saw them, but I have no idea how they got there and no idea how they disappeared.”
“The cops have the camera now, right?”
“Yes.”
He shrugged. “Maybe we’ll be able to get our hands on it. I mean, I’m sure the cops here are great, but the Bureau has the best techs in the world, and from what I hear, the unit can get anything expedited.”
“From what you hear?”
“They asked Brett to join and annexed me to the invitation. I just accepted yesterday. After you called.”
“After I called? So you accepted because of me?” she asked.
“I wasn’t sure I wanted to, but when you called…” he said.
“Oh, Diego, I didn’t mean to ruin your life. I was just so scared when the cops brought me in that I didn’t know what to do except call you.”
“You hardly ruined my life, it’s an elite unit. And I was already on the verge of joining—this just helped me make the decision. I wasn’t sure about leaving Miami, but I figured what the hell, I’m not tied down in any way anymore, so it doesn’t really matter where I’m assigned so long as I like what I’m doing.”
She couldn’t meet his eyes or he would be bound to read her relief at hearing he wasn’t seeing anyone seriously enough to want to stick around, so she just stared at her cup. All she said was, “But you love Miami.”
“No, Scarlet, I’m not in love with a place. Love is something you reserve for people.”
He rose, heading toward the living room. She flinched inwardly, then stood a moment later and followed him.
When she caught up to him, he was examining the statue of Nathan Kendall.
“Heavy, isn’t it? Whoever carved this did an amazing job. The artist caught real character in his face. He looks like a man who’s been through hell but come out with his soul intact,” Diego said.
“It’s a good likeness. I’m hoping to find out who the artist was.” She looked hard at the mannequin herself.
It was wood, just painted wood carved into the likeness of a man and dressed in period clothing.
It suddenly occurred to her that someone could steal those clothes and wear them, and she shuddered.
“Okay, I don’t want to scare you, because in the end this may have nothing to do with the ranch, but tell me about the people here,” Diego said.
“Well, you met Ben and Trisha.”
“The only other people who, as far as you know, have keys to the museum.”
“I can’t believe either of them would do this. I’ve actually known them for years. I met them right after college, when I was working at the Metropolitan Museum of Art. Before I knew you, in fact. I trust them completely.”
“I’m not saying you shouldn’t. It’s easy to get hold of a key and copy it. Who else works here?”
“Angus Fillmore runs the stable. You’d know him if you saw him. Old guy, looks like something out of an old Western movie.”
“I think I saw him,” Diego said. “Who else?”
“The head housekeeper, Linda Reagan. She’s around thirty, I think, and beyond competent. She hires seasonal help when the place is busy, the rest of the time—like now—she and Ben and Trisha handle the cleanup and the meals. Ben and Trisha have a private suite on the second floor, and Linda has a small apartment in the attic. Angus lives over the stables. He leads most of the trail rides, though Ben loves to take out the late-afternoon ride himself, and there are a few locals who help out as needed.”
“Guests here last night?” Diego asked.
“A flock who fled immediately, though not before the police talked to them. There are five who stayed. Terry Ballantree’s a young guy, here on his own. He’s excited because he’s a descendant of Nathan Kendall, just like Ben and me. There are also two couples still here. Charles and Gwen Barton are newlyweds from Mississippi, and Gigi and Clark Levin are from Texas. They’re retirees, and they come for two months at the end of summer, beginning of fall, every year.”
Diego nodded. “I’d like to meet all of them.” He paused, studying her. “What else?”
“What do you mean, what else?”
“There’s something you haven’t told me yet,” he said. “I know you.”
She shook her head, lowering her eyes. “There is one thing, but I can’t see how it means anything. There was a strange guy who stopped me when I was in town and told me to be careful, that I was one of ‘them’ and also one of ‘us.’”
“What did he look like?”
“Maybe thirty-five. Dressed like a cowboy.”
“Are you sure he wasn’t just trying to pick you up? You’re a beautiful woman, you know.”
Coming from someone else, it would have been a compliment. From Diego right now, it was a professional observation, but it was still nice to hear, and she smiled. “Thanks. But I don’t think so. I actually know pick-up lines when I hear them, and that wasn’t one. He was probably just some drunk rambling on about who knows what. Although I ought to thank him, because he’s part of why Lieutenant Gray decided to let me go. They found a witness who saw me talking to him. Well, they saw me talking anyway. Their view must have been blocked, because they didn’t see him. Anyway, after I got away from him I went to hear a friend’s band, and he walked me to my car later.”
“I’m glad he made sure you were safe,” Diego said.
She would have liked it better if he’d sounded at least a little bit jealous.
It was her own fault that he wasn’t, of course. She had left him, and he had moved on.
Why hadn’t she?
“I wasn’t really worried at that point. The guy didn’t seem scary, just weird, and I didn’t know then that anyone had been killed.” She paused. “But actually,” she said, frowning, “when Eddie walked me to my car, I forgot about this earlier, but I felt as if I was being watched then, too. But not by the guy from earlier. By someone…different. Someone evil. That sounds crazy, doesn’t it? It was probably nothing, just my nerves being on edge because of the freaky thing with the photos. Then I got here and found out…” She stared him straight in the eyes. “Diego, how could those pictures have been on the camera?”
“How closely did you look at them?”
“Not very. I was too stunned. They were bloody, though. I remember that much.”
“And you never saw the murdered couple?”
“No. Only Ben saw them. And the police, of course.”
“I need to get my hands on that camera,” Diego said, “but for now, I’d like to meet everyone else here. Want to start at the stables?”
“Sure.”
It was noon; rides were scheduled for ten in the morning, and three and five in the afternoon. Every once in a while they planned a special night ride, but only for experienced riders.
Angus Fillmore was alone at the stables, sitting on a bale of hay and enjoying a sandwich. He liked Scarlet, and she was glad, because she loved the horses and liked spending time around them when she could.
“Angus, hey, I wanted you to meet my—a friend. Diego McCullough.”
“Well, howdy,” Angus said. He didn’t rise, but he did try to wipe the grease off his hand before he offered it to Diego.
“How are you doing?” Diego asked him.
Angus shook his head. “Bastards! Coming up here to kill people. I’m pissed off, is how I feel.” Then, as if realizing he should say something about the victims, he added, “Sorry, too, of course. Sorry as hell for that couple, whoever they were.”
“Anyone riding today?” Scarlet asked him.
Angus shook his head. “Nope. Ben made me cancel. Guess he wants to wait ’til they’ve got the crime-scene tape off the place. I hope to hell they catch the bastard quick.” He frowned, looking at Diego curiously. “Saw you arrive this morning with some official-looking people. You the law?”
“In a way,” Diego told him. “We’re FBI.”
“FBI?” Angus said, surprised. “They’re bringing in the big guns.”
“They didn’t bring us in. Not yet. We’re here to support a friend,” Diego said.
Angus looked at Scarlet, shaking his head. “Heard they took you in for questioning. Idiots.”
That was one of the things she liked about Angus, she thought. He had strong opinions and wasn’t at all opposed to voicing them.
“I’m pretty sure they figured that out,” Diego said.
“Well, glad you’re here. Maybe you’ll catch who did it. Animals, they only kill to survive. Human beings, they kill because they’re sick mothers. Anyway, good to meet you, and good to have you here. You ride?”
“I wouldn’t want to get on a bull, but I’m okay on horseback,” Diego told him.
Angus nodded, as if that was important. “Can’t trust a man who won’t ride a horse,” he said. “Can’t always trust the ones who do, but definitely can’t trust the ones who won’t.”
“Good logic,” Diego said with a smile. “We’ll see you later, and somewhere along the line, I’d love to go riding.”
“Good man—we’ll do it.” Angus said. “And I’ll do the guiding. Ben’s a great guy, but he doesn’t know the trails like I do. Born and raised in these parts. I can show you what needs to be seen.”
Diego thanked him, Scarlet waved, and they headed for the main house.
“What are those two buildings over there?” Diego asked as they walked, pointing.
“That’s the smokehouse,” she said. “It was left as is, but you could still smoke something there if you wanted to. The bunkhouse is set up so they can handle more guests than the main house can hold.”
“Was it occupied last night?”
“I don’t think so. You’d have to ask Ben or Trisha.”
“I’ll do that,” he told her. “So, let’s go meet the housekeeper and the remaining guests.”
“Linda’s probably around, but the guests may or may not be there,” Scarlet said. “They could have gone hiking or into town or something.”
As it turned out, everyone was at the house. They were all in the huge dining room that stretched the length of the left side of the house back to the kitchen, with a nice counter pass-through for whoever was cooking each morning—usually Trisha.
The giant moose head hung between the pass-through and the door to the kitchen. It was about eight feet up and seemed to rule over the room.
There was one long table, and breakfast was served family style, with big plates of fluffy eggs, bacon and sausage, and Danishes, bagels and breads of all kinds.
The weekends were a bit different, with made-to-order omelets on Saturdays, and pancakes or waffles on Sundays.
When they entered, everyone except Linda, who was probably working, was clustered at one end of the table. A large coffee urn sat nearby, along with cream, sugar and a plate of cookies.
Everyone was in jeans, except for Gigi and Clark, who wore sweat suits, but judging by the lack of actual sweat, Scarlet suspected they had intended to take their morning constitutional but hadn’t made it.
Like everyone else at the table, they looked tired and worried.
“Hello, there,” Ben greeted Diego and Scarlet as they came in. “Join us—we’re busy thinking about all the things we don’t want to do because we’re depressed.”
“It’s strange,” Gigi said. “I mean, we didn’t know the couple who were killed. We never even saw them, but…”
“But it feels personal, because it happened right here on the ranch,” Gwen said.
“And we didn’t even know,” Ben said.
“We didn’t hear a thing,” Trisha agreed.
“What were they doing up here?” Clark mused.
“How did they get up here?” Terry asked. “The police didn’t find a car.”
“There are hiking trails all through the woods,” Ben said.
Clark stood suddenly. “I’m sorry,” he said to Diego, offering him a hand. “We haven’t met. I’m Clark Levin, and this is my wife, Gigi.”
The others stood, too, and introductions were made all round.
“Pull up a chair—be depressed with us,” Trisha said.
“Thanks,” Diego said, pulling out a chair for Scarlet before sitting down himself.
Always courteous, she thought. But then, she knew Julia Lopez McCullough, Diego’s mother. And while she was the sweetest woman in the world, she had been an old-fashioned parent and had taught her son manners.
“Coffee?” Ben suggested.
“Sure, thanks,” Diego said, filling cups for himself and Scarlet.
“So you’re a G-man,” Clark said to Diego.
“A what?” Gwen asked.
“Government man,” Clark explained, grimacing. “I guess it’s not an expression anyone uses much these days.”
“What kind of a government man?” Charles asked.
“FBI,” Diego told him.
“I feel safer and less depressed already,” Gwen said brightening. “And your friends—are they G-men, too?”
“Except for Meg. She’s a G-woman,” Diego said.
“With so many of you here, we really are safe, aren’t we?” Gigi said.
“I told you before that we’re safe,” Clark said. “It’s just a terrible coincidence, that couple being killed here.”
“The police are certainly investigating every angle,” Diego said. “But I think you’re safe here. At the moment you even have a police officer parked down at the end of the drive.” He turned to Ben. “Just to be sure I have everything straight, was anyone staying in the bunkhouse the night of the murders, or was everyone here in the main house?”
“Everyone was here. Unless someone specifically requests the bunkhouse, we keep it empty unless we need the extra space.”
“How was it that no one heard the shots?” Gwen asked.
“Most of us weren’t here,” Terry said. “I was in town at the moose store. I don’t remember the name of the place, but it was great. They’ve got moose shirts, moose mugs, moose welcome mats and wind chimes and you name it,” he said to Diego.
“But Trisha and I were right here in the house,” Ben said. “And we didn’t hear a thing.”
“We were watching television, and we had it turned up because someone wasn’t wearing his hearing aids,” Trisha reminded him.
“Trisha!” Ben said, his face turning bright red.
Trisha waved a dismissive hand in the air. “It’s a tiny little thing, but Ben is embarrassed. He’s afraid people will think he’s too old to be fun if he wears hearing aids.”
“Oh, Ben,” Gwen said. “My sister wears a hearing aid, and she’s only thirty.”
“Anyway,” Trisha said, “we were watching some cop movie, and it was full of gunfire. We might have heard those shots and not even known it.”
Linda Reagan entered the dining room from the kitchen just then, shaking her head and setting something in front of Ben.
“Thank you,” he said, his cheeks coloring again.
“No problem,” she told him. “I thought you might need them.”
Linda was tall, about five-nine, with ash-blond hair she kept swept back in ponytail and green eyes. She was far more than the head housekeeper, Scarlet knew. Among other things she discreetly managed guests who wouldn’t leave on time or caused problems in any way.
“What did you find?” Trisha asked.
Linda didn’t answer right away.
“Oh, just tell them,” Ben said.
“His hearing aids,” Linda said.
Heads lowered around the table as people tried to hide their smiles.
“Laugh at me,” Ben said. “It will be good for your souls. Linda, this is Diego McCullough. He’s an FBI agent, and he and some of his friends are here for a few days. They’re friends of Scarlet’s.”
“Nice to have you,” Linda said, sitting down at the table. “Terrible what happened. Do you have any idea what’s going on?” she asked Diego.
“I don’t know anything yet. We just got here this morning. My fellow agents are in town right now, though, seeing if we can be of assistance.”
“Is it like it is on television? Do they get all mad when you guys show up?” Gwen asked, sounding eager for it to be true.
“There are certainly some police who are territorial, but not many,” Diego said with a shrug. “Usually, everyone just wants to catch the bad guy.”
“I get that,” Terry said, nodding. “I’ve heard there are, like, dozens of serial killers at large in the United States at any given time. It’s scary, if you ask me.”
“It is scary,” Diego said, then turned to Linda. “You didn’t hear anything last night, either?”
“I wasn’t here,” she said, and smiled. “I had a date. The police questioned all of us, though. Every one of us had to make a statement, even if we weren’t here.”
“He must be quite a guy,” Trisha told her. “She’s so picky,” she added to the others.
“Hey, my time is precious. We should all be picky,” Linda said.
“Maybe, but as stunning as you are, you deserve to be even pickier than the rest of us,” Charles said.
Linda cast him a disapproving look. Scarlet had a feeling Linda was simply offended that he would compliment another woman over his brand-new bride.
Gwen apparently didn’t appreciate his comment, either, and she must have kicked him under the table, because he suddenly grunted in pain.
Ben clearly picked up on what was happening and quickly changed the subject. “Well, I’m just glad all of you decided to stay on here. Trisha and I really appreciate your loyalty.”
“It’s kind of strange, actually,” Gwen said.
“What’s that?” Linda asked her.
“To be honest, Charles and I were torn about where to spend our honeymoon. The Stanley is just so famous, and it’s known to be haunted, plus the Stephen King connection is so cool. Years ago,” she said, reaching for her husband’s hand, “I was in the area, and I heard about this place, so I read up on its history. It’s really sad, the way Nathan Kendall and his wife were killed. And now this couple…it’s like history repeating itself. It’s tragic, but it’s scary, too.”
“And sick,” Charles said.
Everyone fell silent at that point, until Diego turned to Gigi and Clark and asked, “Did you hear anything?”
“We were in Boulder, having dinner with friends—we weren’t here,” Clark said.
“And you two?” Diego asked Gwen and Charles.
“We were…” Gwen blushed and fell silent.
“Occupied,” Charles said. They smiled at one another, still holding hands.
“I just didn’t hear anything at all…except for Charles,” Gwen said.
Scarlet could feel the general consensus around the table. Too much information.
“Then you got one of your migraines and took something for it, but you were still tossing and turning so much that I took a sleeping pill myself,” Charles said, rolling his eyes and looking at Diego. “I think Armageddon could have come and we would have slept right through it.”
“Migraines are tough,” Linda said, looking sympathetically at Gwen. “My mother used to get them. We had to keep the house dark and silent, and we kept bringing her cold towels for her forehead. If you get one again while you’re here, let me know. I’m a good migraine nurse.”
“Thank you,” Gwen said.
Diego drained his cup and said, “Thanks so much for the coffee and the company.” He smiled as he stood. “This is the first time I’ve been anywhere around here, so Scarlet’s going to show me around a bit.”
“Nice to meet you,” Linda said, and the others expressed similar sentiments.
“And nice to have you G-men—and a G-woman—around,” Charles added.
“Thanks,” Diego said, as Scarlet got up, too, and said her goodbyes.
His hand at her back, they walked out together. She was stunned to realize how much she’d missed that simple touch; Diego had a natural ability to simply touch her or put his arm around her in a way that was…
Not possessive, not exactly. He didn’t push or pull. He had always just touched her gently, a way of saying they were together that made her feel warm and wanted.
She reminded herself again that she was the one who had chosen to leave. She’d left because it had seemed clear to her that his work had come first and always would, but in hindsight she could see that so much of what had gone wrong had been her fault. She’d wanted to respect his work. She’d never wanted to become the little wife sitting at home, worried and always asking for reassurance or more of his time. She had told him that she was fine, and she’d really thought it was true.
But in reality she hadn’t been fine at all. In trying not to be weak she’d tried too hard to be strong and lost what mattered most: the trust and emotional intimacy of a loving marriage. She’d never told him when something was really important. She’d waited for the right moment to tell him about the baby, when she realized now that the right moment would have been anytime she’d excitedly blurted out her news.
But after losing the baby, she had simply been too hurt to see clearly and to know what to do. Escape—from both Miami and her marriage—had seemed the only way to erase the pain.
But he was here now, and she was glad of his reassuring presence, because frankly, she was flat-out scared.
Of a mannequin?
Or of a murderer?
“Curious,” he said when they were outside.
“What’s that?”
“Ben Kendall not wearing his hearing aids and watching some shoot-’em-up cop show at the time of the murders. And really, Gwen couldn’t hear anything but Charles?”
“Do you really think someone at the house could be involved? Maybe the killer just used a silencer,” Scarlet suggested.
“No silencer, that much I’m sure of,” he said, deep in thought. “So a number of people checked out after it happened, right?”
She nodded. “I’m sure you can get a list of their names from Trisha.”
“Good. Brett and the others can interview them. I doubt they were involved, and I don’t blame them for leaving, but that doesn’t mean they shouldn’t be investigated anyway. But, for now, let’s go see this museum of yours.”
Scarlet unlocked the door and they went on in. She turned on the lights and stood by the door, watching as Diego walked from one end of the room to the other, stopping to study the different figures and look in the display cases.
“Quite a collection of guns,” he said.
“It is,” she agreed.
“We’ll get a locksmith in here this afternoon,” he said.
“Pardon?”
“A locksmith,” he told her. “I don’t know if a mannequin can move on its own or not, but no matter what, I think it will be a good idea to change the locks.”
“Okay. But we’ll have to tell Ben. Or ask him, really. He does own the place,” Scarlet reminded him.
“Of course,” he said.
He had just about finished his walk-through when there was a knock at the door. She turned around to open it, but Diego was at her side before she had a chance to.
“You don’t just do that,” he said, his tone harsh.
“It’s broad daylight,” she protested.
“What? You think people can only be killed in the dark?” he asked, stepping past her and opening the door himself.
She almost laughed when Brett and the other two agents entered.
Diego had always been careful, though. Maybe that was part of what had driven the wedge between them. She tended to look for the good in people, while Diego often seemed to expect the worst. It came from what he did, of course, what he saw day in and day out. And when it had come to really thinking about a family…
Right now she didn’t want to think about that. She didn’t want to hurt. She needed help, and she was very grateful that Diego was here to provide it.
She’d never doubted that he would, of course, and that said something right there.
“Anything?” Diego asked the new arrivals.
“Nothing new,” Brett said.
“But Adam is coming in tonight,” Meg said, “and he said that by tomorrow morning we’ll be on the job officially. Adam always knows someone who knows someone else. He’s an amazing man.”
“Wow. Is that really how it works?” Scarlet asked.
“Sometimes,” Meg told her. “You’ll love Adam. Everyone does. In fact, that goes a long way toward explaining how he gets things done and why this unit is so successful.”
Matt looked at Diego. “Have you explained to her who we are?”
“She knows we’re FBI,” Diego told him. “I haven’t had a chance yet to explain about the Krewe.”
“The Krewe?” Scarlet murmured, and looked questioningly at him.
“Brett and I have just joined a special unit within the Bureau,” he explained. “It’s called the Krewe of Hunters, and it deals with the unusual—things that defy logic, things that cross over into the paranormal, the otherworldly. Adam Harrison isn’t only in charge of the Krewe, he’s the man who managed to get it formed in the first place.”
“Adam has an uncanny ability to find people with extrasensory perception and other abilities that help them deal with the kinds of paranormal threats we face,” Matt said. “For at least a decade, he did it quietly, hiring them to work for him privately. He’s also a major philanthropist and knows most of the major players in government as well as private industry. So a while back he made things official and formed the Krewe of Hunters. The unit keeps growing, inviting new members, because this is a big country, and the evil side of the supernatural just keeps going.”
“I look forward to meeting him,” Scarlet said.
“Meanwhile, what do you know about Nathan Kendall and the way he and his wife were murdered?” Matt asked her.
“Do you want the long or the short version?” Scarlet asked.
“We’re here for the duration,” Matt told her.
“Then let’s head up the stairs. You can look at Nathan while we talk about him,” Diego said.
“Oh?” Meg asked.
“Come on upstairs and you’ll understand,” Scarlet said.
She’d half expected that Nathan Kendall would have moved again and was relieved to find that he hadn’t. Maybe he knew she was onto him and this was a good time to behave.
Diego moved the statue over by the window, then leaned against the wall next to it, while the others settled themselves around the room.
“Nathan Kendall was a fascinating person,” Scarlet began. “He was born in Virginia and fought under Lee during the Civil War. When the war was over, a number of the men in his company turned to robbing banks and holding up stagecoaches. They only stole from those they considered to be carpetbaggers, out to take advantage of the South while she was on her knees. But when someone was killed during one of their robberies, Nathan wanted out. He headed west and wound up here. He bought this land from a man named Rollo Conway. Conway had been searching for gold with very little success and needed the money. Nathan must have liked the guy, though, since he kept his name for the ranch.
“At the time, there was a United States marshal living in the vicinity, a widower named Tom Vickers. Nathan fell in love with the man’s daughter. The man didn’t trust Nathan and forbade the marriage, but when the he was out of town, Nathan and Jillian were married anyway. Back then, of course, when a United States marshal was off working, it could be months or years before he got back home. By the time he returned, Nathan and Jillian weren’t just married, they had a baby, Zachary. One night someone tricked Nathan into coming outside, strung him up on a tree and nearly disemboweled him, and when Jillian came running out to his rescue, she was shot and killed. At some point the killer—or killers—decided they were done torturing Nathan, and he was shot, too. Their bodies were found the next day by Rollo Conway, who had come up to see how they were doing.
“There were a number of suspects, including Marshal Vickers, who hadn’t wanted the marriage, and a number of Nathan’s past affiliates, the men he’d left behind after they killed a man. No one ever discovered the truth. Marshal Vickers, naturally, raised Zachary, who went on to have fourteen children of his own. Ben is one of his descendants, and so is Terry Ballantree, one of the current guests here at the ranch.”
Just then Brett’s cell phone rang, and it was clear from his side of the conversation that the FBI had come up with some new information.
“That was HQ,” he said as soon as he hung up. “They found out what Candace and Larry Parker were doing here. They lived in Denver, but they’d never been to Estes Park. They decided to drive up on the spur of the moment and see if they could get a room here at the ranch, so they asked a neighbor to keep an eye on the house and hit the road. And I think you’ll be very interested to know why.” He waited until they were all looking at him, then said, “Because Larry had gone onto one of those ancestry sites and found out that he was a descendant of Nathan Kendall.”
Scarlet felt a chill settle over her. “So Nathan and Jillian’s great, great, whatever grandchild and his wife were killed in the exact same way that Nathan and Jillian were?” she asked, shock evident in her voice. “Why? Why would someone do that?”
“I don’t know,” Diego said. “That’s what we have to figure out.”
“We have to warn them,” Scarlet said. “Ben and Trisha and Terry.” She tried not to think about the fact that she was one of Nathan’s descendants, too.
“I promise we’ll talk to them,” Brett said. “Right now there’s still a cop out front.” He paused and looked at her in a way that sent a shiver down her spine. “There’s one more thing, and it concerns you.”
“What is it?” she asked.
“When our guys found out about the connection between the Parkers and Nathan Kendall, they ran a computer search. There are about two hundred people living today who can trace their lineage back to Nathan and Jillian Kendall,” Meg said.
“That’s not surprising, with Zachary’s fourteen children,” Scarlet said. “What does that have to do with me?”
Brett held her gaze with his for a long moment, then said, “You’re one of them.”