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“Okay, I’m sorry, it is the Christmas season and when I’m upset I bake. I even have some dog biscuits for Sturgis—”
At the sound of his name, the big Lab thumped his tail and looked expectantly at Joelle.
“Yes, buddy . . .” she cooed. “Merry Christmas, Sturgis.” She was halfway into the room now and through the open door behind her, the increasing activity of the department was audible: the thud of deputies’ footsteps as they walked past the door; ringing phones; computer keyboards clicking; and over it all a light buzz of conversation.
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Joelle left a small container on the corner of Grayson’s desk. It had a bright red bow and a card that said: Sturgis.
Grayson watched her but didn’t say a word.
“Well, I’d better get these goodies into the lunch room.” She turned on a gold high heel as if to leave.
“Joelle,” the sheriff said and she stopped. “When Undersheriff Brewster shows up, have him see me.”
Alvarez stiffened, cast a look at Grayson. Did he have suspicions as well?
The sheriff continued, “I want to make sure he dropped the charges against Regan’s boy. The kid’s got enough on his plate with his mother missing and today’s headline.”
Joelle’s pretty face puckered. “Oh, he told me yesterday that he’s got meetings out of the office and will be in a little after nine. But I’ll call him.”
“Do that.”
Grayson seemed surprised that his second-incommand hadn’t informed him about showing up late.
Joelle bustled out.
It was true enough that the undersheriff had a lot of duties that required him to be out of the office and his time spent behind his desk was naturally flexible, though, since the realization that a serial killer was stalking the county, Brewster and the rest of the staff showed up early and met to discuss the day. Not so this morning, it seemed.
Alvarez returned to her desk and decided she wasn’t done yet looking into the undersheriff’s activities. Sure he was a dedicated cop.
By all accounts a devoted family man.
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Lisa Jackson
An elder in his church.
Someone people looked up to.
A handsome, straightforward man.
He looked good on the outside, but there was always the chance that Cort Brewster had a secret life. Elyssa had never been so frightened in her life. Now she knew that Liam, the man she’d learned to trust, was a cold-blooded killer, the one that she’d heard about before leaving school. She’d been vaguely aware that a sicko was prowling this part of the Bitterroots and somehow leaving women in the forest to die. She hadn’t paid any attention; she’d been so excited about going home for the holidays and she’d hoped that Cesar was going to propose. That seemed so far away now.
Part of her other life.
Tears ran down her face as she lay in the bed of the truck, a bit of light visible through the canopy windows. The vehicle wasn’t moving now. He’d stopped somewhere and cut the engine. She’d barely been able to breathe, she was so scared as he’d opened the back of the truck and with gloved hands, pulled the other girl roughly out the back. Morning sunlight had reflected upon the snow, nearly blinding Elyssa, but she’d seen that they were in a forest, all white and quiet, no doubt a remote location.
The other woman, a prisoner like her, had cried out as Liam had dragged her onto the ground. Elyssa caught a glimpse of his knife and saw that the blade had a bit of blood on it. Hers, she knew, from when he’d roughly prodded her into this truck. She thought about throwing herself outside of the vehicle, rolling out and knocking him senseless
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and trying to run. She wouldn’t get far, but maybe one of them, either the other victim or herself, would be able to get away.
