His voice quieted as he spoke, almost like he was tiptoeing around those memories, careful not to disturb them.
“I didn’t realize until we got back to town it was a test,” he said. “Cormac pulled some strings, and by that summer, I’d been transferred. He became my mentor. Partner. Friend.”
Until Cormac had snapped and murdered his family.
“I spent a lot of time with him and his family,” Vance said. “I told you he was the coach for his daughter’s softball team?”
“Yeah.”
“I was the assistant coach. I taught his twins how to whittle wooden spoons. When Cormac was working, I’d shuttle his oldest to swim team practice. Those girls were the closest thing to my own daughters as I’ve ever had.”
And he’d lost them. My heart cracked. “I’m sorry.”
“He was a good dad.” Vance shook his head, his eyebrows coming together. “He was a great dad. He loved those girls.”
Then why? Why had he killed them? Unless . . .
“Do you think he really did it?” I hated even asking that question. After what Cormac had done to me, I had no trouble thinking of him as a murderer. But the doubt written on Vance’s face crept into my mind.
“In my head”—he tapped his temple—“he killed them. He strangled Norah.”
Norah. A pretty name. I pitied her already for the way she’d died. I hoped, for her sake, that she hadn’t known that he’d killed their children.
“There’s no question,” Vance continued. “I’ve gone through the evidence countless times. It all points to Cormac. And the fact that he ran.”
“Innocent men don’t run.”
“No, they don’t.” He sighed. “In my head, all the pieces fit. But in my heart, I can’t make sense of it.”
Because to Vance, Cormac had been a friend and mentor too. Not a cold-blooded killer. “That’s why you need to find him. You want answers.”
Vance went quiet again, his gaze roving the nearby trees. “Starting to think I might not get them.”
“I hope you do.”
“So do I,” he murmured, swallowing hard.
I stood from my seat, brushing off the seat of my jeans. Then I handed Vance my bottle to put in his backpack with my own granola bar wrapper. “Okay, we’re looking for footprints but we’re not looking for footprints. What else?”
“Cormac was out hunting when you found him. Not for sport, but food. Which means he probably has a shelter in the area. I found no signs of him around the river, so he’s probably been careful to hunt far away from where he’s camped.”
“Then why did he come to the river that day?” That place wasn’t close to the road, but it wasn’t exactly secluded either.
“Hunting season. Maybe he thought he’d blend in as just another bow hunter. Maybe he was tracking the elk and that’s where she led him.”
I guess when you lived off the wilderness for food, you took the opportunities given. “How much distance would he put between his camp and where he was hunting?”
Vance shrugged. “Ten miles? Twenty? Maybe more.”
“Twenty miles?” A mental circle extended in my head, its edge stretching farther and farther into the forest. Twenty miles on a smooth, flat highway would take at least five hours to walk. But through these woods? Days.
The magnitude of this search, the improbability of it being successful, rolled over me like the dense fog clinging to the jagged mountain peaks.
Was this hopeless?
Like he’d plucked the question from my thoughts, Vance reached out, his palm cupping my cheek. In that clear gaze, I saw the truth he’d been hiding for weeks.
This was hopeless, wasn’t it? Yet he was still here, combing through this forest day in and day out.
He hadn’t given up, not yet. So neither would I.
“What else do you look for?”
“Animal snares.” His thumb stroked my skin before he dropped his hand and adjusted his backpack. “Tree stumps that look like they’ve been cut down, not broken. And he’d stay relatively close to a water supply.”
“But not the river?”
“Probably not. There are plenty of mountain streams around. He’ll use one of them as his source instead.”
A stream. Or . . . a waterfall.
I spun in a slow circle, trying to get my bearings. “There are two waterfalls off this trailhead.”
“Two?” Vance asked. “According to the local guidebooks, there’s only one. Are you sure?”
“Positive. This trail leads to the main one.” Hence the reason there was even a trail to begin with and a parking lot at the base. “But there’s another waterfall up here too. There’s just no trail leading to it. I don’t know how far we’ve walked and it’s been forever since I came up this way. But I want to say five miles, maybe? I think I’ll recognize the way to get there? Fingers crossed.”
“All right. Lead the way.”
“Promise not to be mad at me if I get us lost?”
He stepped close and brushed a kiss against my forehead. “You get us lost. I’ll get us found.”
CHAPTER TWELVE
VANCE
“How do you know about this waterfall?” I asked Lyla as she weaved a path through the trees.
“I came up here a couple times in high school.” She slowed, looking to her left, then right, before continuing straight.
From how often she stopped to spin in a slow circle, I was fairly certain she was lost. But I had a good idea of where we were—countless hours studying local maps had been time well spent.
If she got turned around, I’d be able to find our way back to the truck. So I let her keep going, my gaze alternating between the forest and her sweet, delicious ass.
I’d been fighting a hard-on ever since she’d taken the lead. Not exactly what I should be focused on today. But Lyla needed this hike. She hadn’t said anything, I just had a hunch.
Today was more about her getting a piece of herself back than tracking Cormac.
More time well spent.
“I had this boyfriend my junior year who loved to hike. He was a year older and spent a lot of time hiking in these mountains. He found this waterfall and brought me along.” She glanced over her shoulder, a shy smile on her mouth as she dramatically pressed her hand to her heart. “I thought it was so romantic, him discovering this waterfall just for me.”
So this was a hookup spot. A spear of jealousy shot through my chest, in one side and out the other.
Lyla faced forward before she could see my jaw clench.
For fuck’s sake.
Jealous of a high school boyfriend. What the hell was happening to me? I couldn’t remember the last time I’d been jealous. None of Tiff’s past lovers had irritated me. Hell, she worked with an ex, and I hadn’t cared—maybe they’d get back together now. Good for them.
So why did just the mention of Lyla’s former flame make me want to punch a tree?
There was no reason to get jealous. No reason to get attached. This would end soon.
With either me finding Cormac. Or me leaving empty-handed.
Until then, Lyla was a lovely distraction, a balm over a wound I doubted would ever heal. A woman who needed an escape as much as I needed to forget. She was a miracle, really.
When she was in bed with me, I’d even managed a few decent nights of sleep.
This morning, it had been all too easy to drift back to sleep after she’d left for Eden Coffee, her scent lingering on the pillows.
When was the last time I’d slept past five? Years. Four, to be exact. Back when the world made sense, before everything got so fucked up, I used to love sleeping in.
That was before the dead haunted me in my dreams.
“What else happened with Winn yesterday?” Lyla’s question snapped me out of my head.
“What I told you last night. She basically said that I fucked up by coming here and not making her station my first stop.”
Lyla shot me an exaggerated frown over her shoulder. “Ouch.”
“She’s not wrong. I broke protocol. She had a right to be pissed.”
“But you’re still here.”
“I’m still here.” For another day. Another week. Maybe another month.
Lyla had only asked once how long I’d be in Quincy. I hadn’t answered because I wasn’t sure. I’d stay as long as possible, nothing more.
“Winn’s a good cop,” I said. “She’ll follow the rules. She’s a good sister-in-law too. Her hands are tied, mine aren’t. So I get to keep searching with the understanding that if I fuck up this investigation, she’ll castrate me.”
Lyla’s giggle filled the air. God, that sound. I hadn’t heard her laugh enough while I’d been in Quincy.
“I read about what Winn has done as chief in the newspaper,” I said.
Lyla stopped, turning to face me. “Did you read about the shooting?”
“I did. I’m sorry. That had to be hard on your family.”
“It was, especially Eloise. Winn too. I worry about her after what she had to do.” Lyla’s shoulders slumped. “Have you ever had to shoot someone?”
“Twice.”
“Did they die?”
“Once.”
Lyla’s eyes locked with mine, the sympathy in them so deep it made my chest feel too tight. She closed the distance between us, her hand splaying across my heart. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” I cupped her cheek, my thumb tracing the smooth line of her cheekbone.