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“And?”
“And what? He needed to make arrangements for Tank quickly so he could take off and be Mr. Investigator. I did it for Tank.”
“Hmm, sure.” Dusty’s eyes sparkled with humor.
“Don’t start. He hates mustangs and raises bucking bulls and horses. We are completely incompatible.” Dusty continued to stare at her with a grin that would put a certain Lewis Carroll cat to shame. “Okay. Fine. I think he’s a hunk, and I wouldn’t mind seeing him again.” She tried to change the subject. “Look, Dusty, I know this makes extra work for you and I’m leaving for a week…” Harper’s voice trailed off.
“No big deal, boss lady and I’m thinking a man like Spencer might be just what you need. Tank won’t be any extra work. Is he social?
“Spence told me we can put him out with that group of weaned foals, and he’ll be in hog heaven.”
Dusty laughed. “You mean that big, tough rope horse likes babies?”
She laughed, as well. “According to Spence, Tank can’t get enough of them. He’ll play all day with them. Teaches them manners but doesn’t get upset with a baby anything— kitten, puppy—you name it, and Tank will take care of it.”
Dusty grinned. “Kinda like that gelding we had a while back. The one all the barn cats had their kittens in his stall.”
Harper smiled. “Yeah, that’s what he said about Tank.” She put her hand on Dusty’s shoulder. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Dusty. You’re the best. I never worry about anything here when I’m gone.”
“Thank you, Harper. You know how much I love this place and everyone, two and four-legged, that lives here.”
Her relationship with Dusty was like a beloved uncle-niece. She’d meant what she said. It would be hard for her to do any of the things that gave her life purpose without Dusty here to watch over everything for her.
Harper entered her beloved stone farmhouse. The stone and timber building materials for it had come from the land itself. She’d wanted it to look as though it had been here almost as long as the cabin had, and it did. But appearances could be as deceiving as they were with the homestead cabin. Both homes had state-of-the art HVAC systems, insulation, gourmet kitchens, spa-like baths and passive solar heating. In addition, both had open floor plans.
The cabin was a single large space—much like a loft apartment, while the main house had an open living space with two bedrooms, two and a half baths, and a loft. Both the primary and guest bedrooms had their own en suite bathrooms. She’d added a powder room for guests not staying the night to use.
Harper entered her bedroom, walked into her closet, peeled off her boots and tossed the clothes into her laundry basket. She walked naked into her bath and turned on the steam shower. She let it get hot and steamy as she brushed her hair out and secured it to the top of her head. She stepped into the shower and moaned in pure, unadulterated, sensual pleasure.
She doubted any lover’s hands had ever felt as good on her body as the steam that now enveloped her. She grinned. Granted, the shower wasn’t going to give her an orgasm or three, but she was too exhausted for that at the moment. Although if Colton Spencer had stepped into her shower, she might have found the energy to take him for a ride.
Walking back into her bedroom, she turned down the bed and allowed herself the luxury of falling into it. She was asleep before her head hit the pillow.
* * *
By the time Spence arrived at Yellowstone,it was too late to see much of the crime scene. He secured hotel rooms for himself and for his team upon their arrival. Early the next morning, he drove out to the park and then hiked to the spot Pete Jenkins had given him the GPS coordinates to. Pete, along with the officer who had arrived first at the scene, was there to meet him. A crime scene in the wild was a different kettle of fish than one in a city and required a different approach.
Recognizing the coordinates as belonging to Yellowstone’s notorious ‘Zone of Death,’ Spence had real concerns about if they found the killer, whether or not they’d be able to prosecute him or her. The ‘Zone of Death’ had been identified by Professor Brian Kalt, who’d found a fatal flaw of sorts in how Yellowstone was laid out and its relevance to the Sixth Amendment of theUnited States Constitution. The Sixth Amendment guaranteed that a person on trial was entitled to be tried within the specific area in which the crime was committed. The spot in which the body had been found had no residents. Therefore, no jury could be convened from the area. This theory had been kicking around since 2005 and even though Congress knew of its existence, for a myriad of reasons, it refused to address the problem. Spence feared that if and when he found the young woman’s killer that an intelligent defense attorney would cite the Sixth Amendment as a proactive defense and possibly win the case.
Shaking his head to clear it of the legal and other nightmares that might prove to be a part of this investigation, Spence focused on getting perspective on what was known so far.
Pete started with the basics. “Her name is Dulcie Simpson. We didn’t find any identification on her; we had to identify her using fingerprints, but after a thorough search, one of our people did find a backpack that contained her wallet.”
“Why is she in the system?” asked Spence.
“Because of her job. She’s an investigator who works for The Jockey Club. She’s thirty-six, divorced, and has a week-long permit for the park. She and a sister have a reservation at the fancy lodge, and she checked in the night before we found her. Staff said she talked about hiking and canoeing with her sister and was friendly with everyone. Absolutely nothing remarkable about her, not even a speeding ticket.”
“And yet,” Spence observed, “She’s found dead with a hole in the back of her skull and the best guess is, it was a hit. Do I have that right?”
Pete and the other ranger both nodded. “The hiker who reported it to us swore she didn’t touch the body. The medical examiner says the victim was kneeling when she was shot from behind, execution-style.”
“I’m assuming nothing easy to spot in the way of tracks?”
“No, this area is used too much for hiking. Her backpack was found a little ways away. Just the usual stuff you’d expect.”
“So, how the hell does a nice, ordinary lady with a normal life, who’s going vacationing with her sister get shot, execution-style, in Yellowstone? And where is the sister? Should we assume she’s in danger? Kidnapped? What?”
“I don’t think so,” Pete responded. “It looks like from the itinerary we found in her room that her sister is due to meet her for dinner at the lodge later this evening. They planned on staying at the hotel tonight and hitting the trails tomorrow. The hotel said she told them today she planned on taking a short hike just for fun.”
