Restless Spirit Read online

  Oh, hell, this shouldn’t be happening. She’d thought she was safe in Elkhorn, but everything was falling apart. Her carefully constructed sanctuary was being dismantled, brick by brick.

  “Nicole.”

  At the sound of her name, she startled as if waking from an endless nightmare and stared up at the sheriff. “Are you already done?”

  “I need to take care of you before I do anything else,” he said. “Are you strong enough to stand up?”

  “Maybe.”

  He held out his hand toward her. Dumbly, she stared at the very masculine appendage, all muscle and tendon. She raised her gaze to his face. His high cheekbones, dark brown eyes and well-tanned complexion hinted at Native American heritage. One of the waitresses at the café had mentioned that the sheriff was part Ute. Nicole noticed the gleam of a silver necklace at his throat.

  “Come on,” he urged. “Take my hand.”

  Though she’d seen him dozens of times before, this was the first time she realized that he was a very good-looking man. If she’d had any vestige of self-respect, she would’ve pulled herself together so he wouldn’t think badly of her. But she had no pride left.

  She placed her hand in his, and he pulled her upright. He calmly reassured her, “You’re going to be okay.”

  How would he know? She tried to maintain her balance, but her knees were weak. She slumped against him. “I can’t move.”

  “It’s okay.” He patted her shoulder. “Take all the time you need.”

  His kindness stirred the lonely emptiness inside her. A tear spilled down her cheek, and she buried her face against the sheriff’s coat rather than show him this sign of weakness.

  He didn’t shove her away. Instead, he sat on the toilet seat and cradled her against his chest. His body heat warmed her. The circle of his arms protected her. His closeness felt soothing, and she trembled as a shred of the pain that enshrouded her heart unraveled. It would be so good to have someone to lean on, someone she could trust.

  That was a luxury she never owned. Not even when she lived with Derek and had all the money in the world. Derek! She couldn’t let him find her. Her survival depended upon keeping her true identity a secret. She mustn’t let down her guard. Not even with a sheriff. Especially not with a sheriff.

  Her spine stiffened, and she pushed away from him. “I’m better now, Sheriff.”

  “You can call me Mace.”

  “Okay, Mace.” With an effort she pulled herself together. “I’m worried about my roommate. Joey Wentworth. He’s not here.”

  Mace’s dark eyes studied her. “That’s his Beemer parked out front.”

  “How do you know it’s not mine?” she asked.

  “Because you drive a Ford Escort. I saw it pulled off to the side of the road on my way over here.”

  The sheriff had been watching her. He knew what kind of car she drove. Nicole couldn’t let him know too much; such knowledge could only hurt her. Fear surged inside her, giving her the strength to stand on her rubbery legs. She braced herself against the tile of the bathroom wall. “I’m cold.”

  “It’s freezing in here. Let’s go to your room.”

  When he took her arm to guide her out of the bathroom, she recoiled. “I can make it by myself.”

  “Fine with me.” He gestured toward the hallway. “You need to change out of those wet clothes and get warmed up. You might be in shock.”

  “I don’t think so.” She staggered into the hall and aimed toward her bedroom. “When I was eleven, I broke my ankle and went into shock. I memorized what it felt like.”

  If she’d been in shock, she’d be detached from all pain, floating disembodied on a fluffy cloud. Right now, she was sharply aware of the chill and the empty ache in her belly.

  “Broke your ankle,” Mace said in a friendly, conversational tone. “Skiing accident?”

  “No.” She’d been pushed down a flight of stairs by her stepfather. It was an incident she didn’t intend to share. “I’m not in shock. I’m hungry and tired.”

  In her bedroom, she intended to go directly to her closet and find other clothes, but her emotional and physical exhaustion dragged her down. With a moan, she sprawled on her back across her torn-apart bed. The dampness from her parka soaked into the crumpled comforter, but she didn’t care. She’d have to clean all the bedding, anyway.

  “Listen, Nicole. I haven’t worked up this crime scene. So I’d appreciate if you change out of your clothes and don’t touch anything else. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” But she didn’t move.

  “If you’re not well, I can call an ambulance.”

  “I’m fine.” She didn’t want to deal with all the questions asked in a hospital. She forced herself to sit up. “Let’s get started with the investigating. Do you have questions for me?”

  “Yeah,” he said. “Who did this?”

  Derek. His name flashed across her brain like a neon sign. But she couldn’t tell the sheriff about her suspicion. If Derek thought she’d mentioned him to the police, he’d find a way to make her suffer.

  She cleared her throat. “I have no idea who might have done this. A robber. Don’t you think so?”

  “Tell me what happened after you left work tonight.”

  “I ran out of gas. I thought I had half a tank, but Joey borrowed my car and didn’t fill it up. I was stranded on the road, and it was all his fault. I was so mad I could have—” She stopped herself before saying she could have killed her roommate. Given that Joey was missing, it wasn’t wise to mention her homicidal thoughts.

  “You could have done what?” Mace prompted.

  “Given him a piece of my mind,” she said. “But I didn’t have the chance. When I got to the cabin, the front door was unlocked. I came inside and found this mess. I went to the kitchen and called 9-1-1.”

  “Is that when you grabbed the knife?”

  She nodded. “I thought Joey might be hurt, and I went looking for him. When I saw the blood on the floor in his studio, it was…horrible. I got sick in the bathroom. Then you came.”

  “What made you think Joey was hurt?”

  “There was violence here,” she said. “The cabin is torn to pieces.”

  “Anything missing?”

  “All my money.” She pointed to the cigar box. “I kept my cash in there, hidden in the bottom of my hamper. Every time I get a hundred dollars in crumpled-up ones, I exchange it for a fresh new hundred-dollar bill.”

  “How much?” he asked.

  “Nearly two thousand dollars.”

  He picked up the cigar box by the edge. Then he placed it in a plastic bag he took from his pocket. “Anybody handle this box besides you?”

  “Nobody knew about my money.”

  “We might be able to get fingerprints,” he said. “Anything else missing?”

  “My jewelry box was emptied. It’s no great loss. There’s nothing I can’t replace for a couple of bucks at the Wal-Mart.”

  “What about Joey? Does he keep anything of value at the cabin?”

  “I don’t really know.” she said. “His studio is his private space and I never go in there unless I’m invited. That doesn’t happen unless Joey is using me as a model.”

  “He’s an artist?”

  “And very talented,” she said with more loyalty than accuracy. Joey was competent, but he was no Rembrandt.

  “Does he sell his artwork?”

  “Joey’s paintings hang in some of the most prestigious offices in Denver.” That much was true. Joey had told her that his uncle Blake, CEO of Wentworth Oil Exploration, had purchased several pictures.

  Mace removed his Stetson and ran his fingers through his thick, shiny black hair. It was almost as if he was scratching his head, puzzling out answers to questions he hadn’t yet asked. “As far as you can tell,” he said, “nothing important was stolen. Except for your cash money.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’ll leave you here to change out of those wet clothes wh
ile I get started on the forensics.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Looking for evidence. You know, dusting for fingerprints.” Mace headed toward the bedroom door, then he paused and turned back toward her. “By the way, how were you and your boyfriend getting along?”

  “Joey isn’t my boyfriend. We’re roommates.”

  “Any arguments recently?”

  She frowned. Why was he asking her about her relationship with Joey? “We get along fine. No problems.”

  His dark eyes regarded her steadily. She saw resolute stubbornness in the set of his chiseled jaw. Without speaking a word, his expression told her of his determination. He would discover all her secrets. Therefore, Mace was dangerous.

  Nicole had to escape from Elkhorn. As soon as she knew Joey was safe, she’d be gone.

  Chapter Two

  Outside the cabin, Mace walked along the edge of the muddy driveway to avoid scuffing up tire tracks that might be evidence. Though it was his professional duty to collect the forensic data and treat this crime scene seriously, he considered the supposed robbery at the Wentworth cabin to be little more than a prank.

  The way he figured, these two roommates had an argument, then Joey tore the cabin apart to teach Nicole a lesson. Unfortunately, he went one step too far by stealing her savings. The little weasel would have to be tracked down in order to get her money back.

  Not that Mace considered Nicole to be a blameless victim. He knew she was lying to him. He could see it and feel it. This pretty woman had something to hide.

  At his white Ford Explorer with the sheriff logo on the door, Mace gathered his evidence kits and a camera to record the crime scene. He called Barry at dispatch on his cell phone.

  “I’m at the Wentworth cabin,” Mace said.

  “Everything okay?”

  “An apparent robbery. No serious injuries.” He’d give Barry the details later. “Put out an APB on Joey Wentworth. He’s disappeared and left his 2002 BMW behind.”

  “Whoa, it’s a crime and a half to abandon that mighty fine vehicle.” Barry chuckled. “How’s Nicole taking this?”

  “Not great,” Mace said.

  “She’s a cute little thing. Not too friendly, though.”

  A cute little liar. “Barry, I need you to pull up Joey Wentworth’s record on the computer.”

  “Sure enough. And I’ll check his prints with the FBI, maybe run his ID through the NCIC.”

  “I don’t think we need to go into the National Crime Information Center just yet,” Mace drawled. “Joey’s gone missing. That doesn’t mean he’s planning to start a crime wave in Elkhorn.”

  “I’ll have the basic data in a sec.”

  Barry’s voice sounded way too cheerful for near midnight on a Monday night, but the dispatcher was a night owl. His work preference was from ten o’clock at night to dawn, alone at the sheriff’s offices at the county courthouse except for his radio, which was always tuned to a country-western station. During those quiet hours, Barry transformed the stacks of half-baked reports from the other deputies into coherent directives for the following day. He was the brain behind the brawn.

  Mace’s first act after being elected sheriff three years ago was to hire Barry away from the Denver PD where they’d been partners. Barry wasn’t the greatest detective in the world, wasn’t much of a marksman, and had a sweet tooth that kept him from being in top physical condition. He was, however, sharper than a double-edged razor when it came to computers. He’d taught their previously antiquated system to sort, file, record, sing, dance and whistle “Dixie.”

  “No outstanding warrants,” Barry said. “I’m looking at Joey’s record on the computer. Nothing but a couple of speeding tickets. From the photo on his driver’s license, I’d say he’s kind of a wuss.”

  “He does oil paintings. Nicole says he’s pretty good.”

  “A young guy who claims to be an artist and drives a brand-new Beemer,” Barry summarized. “I’m smelling a spoiled rich kid.”

  “Thanks, Barry. I’ll finish my investigation and drop off the paperwork later.”

  “Later,” Barry echoed.

  Back in the cabin, Mace slipped on a pair of disposable latex gloves so he wouldn’t contaminate the scene with his own fingerprints. If he’d been following correct procedure, he would have gloved up when he walked in the door and he sure as hell wouldn’t have allowed Nicole to go back into her bedroom and get dressed. He figured these investigative lapses were no big deal. More than likely, Joey would call and this whole mess would probably be cleared up before dawn.

  Using a digital camera, Mace took photos of Nicole’s muddy footprints on the kitchen floor. Though not quite sure what he was looking for, he rifled through the drawers, checked in cabinets and took a look in the trash can. Nothing seemed unusual. After he photographed the locked and dead-bolted back door, there wasn’t much else to investigate in the kitchen. It looked clean.

  So did Nicole when she joined him in the kitchen. She’d changed into jeans and a dark-blue sweater that brought out the blue in her wide-set eyes. Barry had called her cute, but Mace wouldn’t use that description. Cuteness implied a soft, fuzzy bunny rabbit. Nicole Ferris looked angular, like a tawny cougar who scraped a living from the arid foothills of the high Colorado desert.

  He didn’t know exactly what to think of her. When he first entered the cabin and saw her with the knife in her hand, he thought she might be capable of murder. Then she collapsed in his arms and clung to him with a desperation that went far beyond the usual fear and anger of a robbery victim. A strange, wordless communication had passed between them. Somehow it gratified him to be there for her when she needed comfort.

  “I’m making coffee and a sandwich,” she said curtly. “If you want something, you have to serve yourself. I don’t bring my work home with me.”

  “Do whatever you want in the kitchen,” Mace said, “I’m done collecting evidence in here.”

  “Did you find any clues?”

  In spite of her brisk attitude, he sensed an under-current of emotion. “Nicole, I’ll be honest with you. I think Joey is behind this robbery.”

  “You’re wrong,” she scoffed. “He wouldn’t take my money. We’re friends.”

  Mace had seen the gruesome portrait in Joey’s studio with Nicole posed as the queen of the ghouls. That didn’t look like the work of a friendly amigo.

  “Besides,” she continued, “Joey’s loaded with dough. His family owns Wentworth Oil Exploration, an international company. He wouldn’t bother with my petty cash.”

  “Two thousand dollars.” Mace leaned against the kitchen doorframe and folded his arms across his chest. “Doesn’t sound like petty cash to me.”

  “Because you’re not rich.” She measured grounds into a paper filter. “People like Joey live differently than you and me. He might drop a thou on a cashmere sweater and then wear it to chop wood.”

  She sounded as if she had some acquaintance with the world of cashmere sweaters, and he wondered about her background. All he knew about Nicole was what he’d observed during the past couple of months she’d worked at the Elkhorn Café. Not chatty, but good at her job. She kept the coffee mugs full. And she was a pleasure to watch—graceful as a dancer. Even when serving up four heavy platters of chicken-fried steak, her movements were smooth and controlled. And tidy. A very neat person, she always braided her long blond hair without a single strand out of place.

  Right now her hair was mussed. Delicate tendrils escaped the braid and swirled beside her cheeks. When her hair was free from all restraints, the silky texture must be beautiful as the sunlight on autumn aspens. “Before you moved to Elkhorn, what kind of work did you do?”

  “I’ve always been a waitress.”

  “In Denver?”

  “Denver, San Francisco, Seattle.”

  “Always in cities.” That made sense. Her attitude was way more city than country. “Have you ever done any other kind of work?”

  “Not really.
”

  He ventured into her personal life. “Ever been married?”

  “Excuse me?” Her attempt at a disdainful glance fell short when the corner of her eye twitched nervously. “What does my marital status have to do with a robbery?”

  Maybe a lot. A jealous ex-husband or fiancé might not like the idea that she had a male roommate. Though Mace was fairly sure that Joey had torn the rooms apart, he needed to consider other possibilities. He felt there was something he was missing in this investigation. Something important.

  Staring at the coffeemaker, he willed the machine to drip faster. A jolt of caffeine might get his brain working at full speed. “How long have you been living with Joey?”

  “I resent your implication that we’re living together. We’re roommates. There’s nothing romantic between us. I pay him rent every month, and he lets me stay here.” Her full lips pulled into a frown. “Why do you think Joey robbed me?”

  “A couple of things,” Mace said. “If this was a robbery for profit, the thieves missed a bet by not taking the television and VCR.”

  “I thought of that,” she said. “I’ll bet the robbers changed their minds about taking other stuff after they found my money.”

  “These robbers,” he said. “How do you suppose they got inside the cabin?”

  “It’s obvious! They broke in through the bathroom window.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “Of course,” she snapped.

  Though she tried to act snippy, Mace noticed the tension in her forehead and a sheen in her eyes that might be unshed tears. He sensed that she was scared, but that didn’t mean he was ready to put up with her sassy attitude.

  He met her gaze, unsmiling. He was the one in charge, and she needed to understand that fact. “Pay attention, Nicole. And I’ll explain.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “There was no broken glass in the bathtub. The shards were outside on the ground which means the window was broken from the inside.”