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Her gaze jumping from one potential hiding spot for the killer to the next, she fumbled around inside her orange hobo bag for the keys to Harvest. Sweat dampened the back of her neck and she couldn’t catch her breath as she pawed through it. Anxiety tightened her chest, forcing her to work harder to draw in breath. Each second lasted an eternity. Pushed to the breaking point, her frustration peaked. Claire dumped out her bag onto the ground, foraged around in the resulting small mountain and grasped the keys and her cell.
Finally, the vise constricting her lungs relented. Her heart lifted and she hurtled toward Harvest’s entrance. Until tonight, she’d never realized she could sprint in four-inch heels. All it took was the right motivation.
The click of the door’s deadbolt sounded better than anything she’d ever heard in her life. It took two tries before she punched in the right numbers for the Dry Creek County Sheriff.
“Hey, sis, what can your newly elected county sheriff do for you tonight? Did you run out of gas again?”
Claire hunched over her phone. “Hank! Th-th-there’s a gi-gi-girl in my Dumpster.” Hysteria sharpened her voice. “She’s dead, Hank. She’s dead!”
“Okay. Calm down, Claire.” In a heartbeat he turned all business. “Take a breath. Tell me where you are.”
“I’m at Harvest. In-n-side.”
“Claire, listen to me. Stay where you are. Don’t let anyone in. I’m on my way.”
“Hurry, Hank.”
Despite the night’s heat, a bead of cold sweat crept down the back of her neck and she darted a glance out the window. Though frightened to look, she found she couldn’t turn away. A numbing stillness covered the parking lot. Even the breeze had stopped, as if it had been scared away. Inside Harvest only her panting broke the heavy silence.
The air conditioner clicked on with a whir and she nearly jumped out of her skin.
Get ahold of yourself.
Enough with the trembling at shadows and unexpected noises. Inhaling deeply, she tried to calm her jangling nerves. Freaking out wasn’t doing her any good. If the killer hid in the parking lot, she needed to be focused and prepared to defend herself.
Clamping her jaw tight, she tucked her long hair behind her ears and flipped off her heels. Like a boxer before a big match, she bounced on the balls of her feet, flexed her fingers and rolled her shoulders back and forth. Her heart slowed and her hands didn’t shake anymore. Well, not as much.
Time to get the skillet.
Claire didn’t loosen her white-knuckle grip on the omelet pan until Hank’s cruiser squealed into the parking lot five minutes later. By then, she’d pushed the terror back with the determination of a soon-to-be bride at a seventy-five-percent-off wedding dress sale. Leaving the heavy cast-iron pan on the hostess stand, she hurried outside to meet her brother.
She kicked a twig from one of the mangled bushes out of her path. Harvest was the center of her world. No psycho would scare her away from her own restaurant, or its parking lot. At least not twice in one night.
She’d started Harvest three years ago with a small inheritance from Granny Marie and a massive loan from the bank. Her inability to boil water had killed her dreams of being a chef, but she wouldn’t let that destroy her dream of owning her own restaurant. She’d lost buckets of sweat and tears to building Harvest up from the long-vacant remains of the abandoned Grand Hotel. For three years she’d spent nearly every waking hour here. Seven days out of seven, she was here for at least a few hours. Most days she arrived hours before the first line cook and left long after the final customers paid their bill. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gone on vacation, taken the day off to drive five hours to go shopping in Denver or even gone out on a date. Hell, she hadn’t even had sex in forever.
Hank stood outlined by the glare of his cruiser’s headlights. At six-feet, three-inches tall, with the sinewy bulk of a man who had played division one college football, he looked like a mountain compared to her petite frame. Hank, the eldest of her three brothers, took his duties as the oldest brother seriously. Normally, his protective temperament drove her nuts. Not tonight.
He strode toward her, a look of worry pasted on his face. “Are you okay?” Hank hugged her to him.
He held her so tight, one of his uniform shirt’s buttons dug into her forehead. “I’m fine.”
His tight grip overwhelmed her, emphasizing how vulnerable she’d been and how much she hated that feeling. Her frazzled nerves tensed, so she grabbed on to the one emotion more powerful than fear. Anger. Pushing away, she scowled up at him. “Really.”
He tsked, obviously not impressed by her typical reaction to trouble, but let her go. “So tell me what happened.”
Claire had to quicken her pace to keep up with his long stride. “I found her when I dumped the garbage.”
“Did you see anyone? Anybody hanging around?”
“No.”
“Lucky you.” Hank towered over the Dumpster. Gripping his flashlight close to the bulb, he aimed it into the reeking depths.
A magnetic curiosity pulled her to Hank’s side. She sidled up to him and raised herself on her tiptoes to see inside. The dead girl’s lime-green eyes held no tears, but Claire found hers did. She blinked them away before Hank could spot them. If he realized how scared she’d been and how much seeing the dead girl affected her, he’d make her wait inside.
That wasn’t going to happen. This was her kingdom. No one pushed her around at Harvest, even if it was declared a crime scene.
The dead girl must have been in her early twenties, probably a student at Cather College. Dressed in a flowery, turquoise sundress, she looked as if she’d been out for a night of fun with friends.
