The Hunting Season

This one had medium brown hair worn in a roll on the back of her head, blue eyes and a voluptuous body he thought could be a problem when she worked with unstable men and hormone-ridden teenage boys. But that was none of his business.

What did make him curious was her guarded air. He wondered if she was ever completely open. The fact that he sensed she had secrets might in fact be his business.

“Ms. Engle?” He held out a hand.

Hers was icy cold. “That’s right.”

“Tell me what brought you here.” He smiled, hoping to relax her. “Start at the beginning.”

She spoke succinctly, her voice pleasingly husky. Mostly, what she told him was a recap. He listened intently when she explained her reasoning for checking out this house, and for deciding to get out of her car and ring the doorbell.

“You didn’t consider calling for police backup?” he asked.

“I should have.” Her cheeks warmed. “I don’t like to do that unless I know something’s wrong, though. I mean, that’s a waste of your time. This was just…”

He waited through her hesitation.

Her eyes met his. “I really don’t know. Just a feeling, I guess. I almost chickened out when I first came around the back of the house. I could have sworn someone was standing in that wooded area. But I don’t know, when I kept looking I didn’t see anyone.”

Was she tossing out the possibility that someone else had been watching her to keep him from focusing on her? Or had a killer really been there, and she’d been an idiot to disregard what her instincts had surely been telling her?

She continued. “When I saw that the back door was open a crack, I justified going inside.” She made a face. “I actually tiptoed, believe it or not.”

Yeah, he could see her doing that. He wanted to say, You know walking in that way was stupid, don’t you? Instead, he settled for an “uh-huh.”

“What I don’t understand is who could have killed him. It doesn’t make sense.”

She sounded sincere. Was she that good an actor? He must have hidden what he was thinking, because her expression didn’t change until he asked, “Is Shane still in the hospital?”

Her mouth dropped open. “You’re suggesting Shane would do this?”

“I’m asking where he is.”

She didn’t look very friendly now, but said, “I picked him up at the hospital late this morning and took him to a receiving home. I assure you, he’s in no shape to borrow a bike, pedal across town and beat a man to death.”

“But he has excellent motivation,” Daniel said softly.

Her anger, or dislike, flared from a simmer to a rolling boil. “That’s ridiculous! He never even fought back when his father abused him. He’s a good kid. You might as well accuse me.”

He didn’t say a word, because yes, the thought had crossed his mind that she might have cracked and killed a man who epitomized everything she hated.

She retreated without moving a muscle. The rest of her answers were single syllables. He couldn’t even blame her, but the reality was that he had to consider her a suspect at this point.

Ten minutes later, already on his phone, he watched her drive away. If she intended to call the receiving home, he’d beaten her to the punch—and what he learned in a brief conversation set a red flag to flapping.

Chapter Two

Shane was missing.

Lindsay learned as much when she reached the receiving home. Althea and Randy Price had never been among her favorite foster parents, but they’d seemed capable for short-term placements. Live and learn. Apparently Althea had shown Shane to his bedroom and then failed to notice his absence until four or five hours later.

The woman’s round-cheeked face flushed. “I assumed he was sleeping.”

Scared for Shane, Lindsay said, “You didn’t check even once on a boy you knew had suffered a head injury and had spent the night at the hospital.”

Randy Price glared at her.

Althea’s chin rose defiantly. “You’ll have to forgive me if I thought he needed sleep more than lunch!”

“He needed care, Mrs. Price. And I’ll admit I’m disturbed to learn that he walked out without either of you seeing or hearing a thing.”

She sniffed. “Well, I’m sure that detective who called will find him.”

Oh, crap. That detective had probably called before Lindsay had made it down the driveway. He wanted to pin the murder on her or on poor Shane. Why work when you can go for the easy answer?

She knew what she had to do: find Shane before Detective Deperro did.

But first she had to figure out why Shane had taken off. Only one possibility leaped to mind. He could have gone out to the highway to hitch a ride to some bigger city where he imagined he could live on his own until he turned eighteen. When she thought about it, Randy was a big man who might have reminded Shane unpleasantly of his father and uncle. Lindsay had thought Shane understood that he’d be with the Prices for only two or three days until a suitable foster home was located, but even if he sort of trusted her, believing that the next placement would be any better might be beyond a boy like Shane.

It bothered her that he hadn’t had any stuff of his own to take with him. Thanks to police planning to search his uncle’s house, they couldn’t get into it at least until tomorrow to collect the duffel with his belongings. He wouldn’t have any money, either—unless he’d taken some out of Althea’s purse. Lindsay wasn’t about to ask and put any ideas in the woman’s head.

“If you’ll excuse me, I need to look for him,” she said. “Obviously, I won’t be bringing him back here.”

Randy’s jaws bulged. “We wouldn’t have a boy who’d sneak out like that.”

Walking down the sidewalk to her car, Lindsay rolled her eyes. Really? Every kid they’d taken in was a saint? She was angry enough; she intended to contact a colleague and suggest they reconsider the Prices’ receiving home license.

She hadn’t reached her car when an unmarked police SUV rolled up behind her bumper. Deperro got out and watched her approach. She felt a tiny bump in her chest, because there was no denying he was a magnificent male specimen—six foot two or three and broad-shouldered, with dark hair and eyes and bronze skin—but he’d done or said nothing to make her think she’d like him. So she nodded vaguely in his direction and went around to her driver door. She couldn’t think of a thing she wanted to say to him.

His deep voice carried well. “Ms. Engle.”

That tone would scare Shane, too. She really had to find the boy first. “Detective.”

“Can we talk?”

Gee, he’d asked.

Only after she opened her car door did she face him. “We’ve already done that. You may research my background and job performance to your heart’s content, but I think I’ll get an attorney before I sit down with you again. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Not looking at him again, she climbed in behind the wheel and gave a yank to the door handle, only to meet resistance.

Somehow, he’d moved fast enough to grab hold of the top of the door.

Lindsay turned a blistering glare on him. “What do you want?”

“You to tell me where I might find Shane.”

“How can I? My best guess is that he decided he can’t trust any adults. It would appear he’s right.”

Those espresso-dark eyes narrowed. “His uncle was murdered. You don’t think it would be irresponsible of me not to sit him down for a talk? To think, oh, his caseworker says he’s a nice boy. He couldn’t have anything to do with this, and think how much I’d upset him by asking where the hell he was while someone was beating Uncle Martin’s head in.”

Lindsay tried very hard to hold on to her dislike, but that was hardly fair. Of course, his job demanded he find out where Shane had been while Martin was being killed. Ask Shane if he knew who might hate Martin—or benefit from his death.

Her keys were biting into her palm. Not looking at him, she said quietly, “I really don’t know where he is. I’m…scared for him.”

There was a moment of silence. He moved again, squatting inside the open door so he was closer to her eye level. Lindsay was painfully aware of the way the fabric of his black cargo pants stretched across powerful thigh muscles. She hated being torn between so many conflicting emotions and impulses.

“I understand,” Deperro said, in an entirely different voice. “Believe it or not, I’m concerned about him, too.”

She made herself meet his eyes. “Why?”

It was obvious the detective wasn’t sure he wanted to tell her, but after a moment he rolled his shoulders as if to release tension. “What if the uncle saw him on the street and grabbed him? Shane might have had reason to fight back. Or what if he was there in the house when someone else killed his uncle? Did he run before that person had a chance to get a hand on him, too? Or did he see something he’s afraid to tell anyone?”

Lindsay was afraid her mouth had dropped open. He was right. Those were real possibilities she hadn’t considered. Shane might be in danger because he was only a kid standing with his thumb out beside a highway. But he might be dead, too, or running from a killer.

All the air in her lungs left her in a rush. “None of that occurred to me,” she admitted.

“You could help me do my job.”

If Shane were here, wouldn’t she encourage him to answer Deperro’s questions?

Of course she would. “For the third time, I really, truly, cross my heart, don’t know where he is. I don’t have the impression he has any good friends. How could he, when he didn’t want anyone to know how bad it was at home?”

“Yeah,” the detective said gruffly. “I get that.”

“My best guess is that he’s running away because he didn’t like the Prices and is afraid of what will happen to him once he’s placed again. He might think he can get by as a street kid in Portland or Seattle until he ages out.”

Deperro swore. “I’ll put the word out to watch for him. Damn. We want to stop him before he gets too far.”

Again, he was right. And he was able to marshal help from sheriff’s deputies and even the state patrol in a way she couldn’t. Had she really thought she’d find Shane by driving aimlessly up and down local roads?

Deperro frowned. “Could he have gone by his uncle’s house to pick up his stuff?”

“Would he dare?”

“It’s worth looking.” He rose easily to his feet and stood gazing down at her.

“I can go out there while you—”

“Head out there, too.” His eyebrows rose, giving him a devilish look. “You’re welcome to join me.”

Lindsay closed her eyes. As much as she hated to surrender, she just about had to.

“One question,” he said.

She braced herself.

“Has Shane ever been caught setting fires? Even small ones?”

Remembering the smell of something burning at the Ramsey house, Lindsay was profoundly relieved to be able to shake her head. “No. Never.”

The detective’s eyes stayed narrow and intent, but finally he nodded.

That didn’t mean he believed her.

DURING THE DRIVE, Daniel coaxed Lindsay—she’d stiffly given him permission to use her first name—into telling him what she knew about both Martin and Austin Ramsey.

Shane’s mother had died when he was nine. When Shane came onto Lindsay’s radar, he’d admitted that his dad hurt his mother, too. He thought Dad had killed her, but didn’t know for sure.

Daniel gave her a startled glance. “Did you report his suspicion?”

“No. I made a note in his file, but he wasn’t home when his mother died, and he said his father denied having anything to do with it.”

“How did she die?”

“She was helping paint the exterior of the house. Supposedly, Austin heard her scream and raced around to find her on the ground. She’d been atop a tall ladder, painting the trim on the eaves.”

“A fall.” Daniel heard how expressionless that came out.

“Hard to prove anything.”

“Unfortunately.” The odds of a woman whose husband had been battering her dying in an accident struck him as about a hundred to one, but there really wasn’t much he could do all these years later.

“I should have done more of a background check on the uncle,” Lindsay admitted after a minute, not looking at him. “Martin’s ex-wife didn’t return my phone call then, and I depended too much on Shane’s confidence in his uncle. While I was at the hospital this morning, I finally reached Martin’s ex-wife, who has remarried and lives back east. He hadn’t abused the kids, who were really young when the divorce happened, but he’d hit her a few times, she said. He hasn’t demanded visitation, but she said there was no way she’d let their kids go for an unsupervised stay with him.”

“Have you let her know he’s dead yet?” Daniel asked. Fingerprints had already confirmed the victim’s identity.

“No, I thought you might prefer to do that.”

“I would.” He was surprised at her restraint, although it was possible she just hadn’t wanted to do a death notification. Who did? “You’re sure she wasn’t here in Oregon when you talked to her?”

“Pretty sure. I reached a cleaning lady at the house, who gave me Mrs. Schulze’s work number.”

“Took the new husband’s name, huh?”

“Apparently.”

He kept eyeing Lindsay sidelong, wondering if she’d just tamped down the hostility or whether she had let some of it go. Not all, or she’d be willing to look at him. And why would she, once she guessed he had to consider her as a possible suspect in the murder of the man who’d brutally beaten the boy under her charge?

Truthfully, Daniel couldn’t see it. He’d walked out to the woods where she thought she’d seen someone watching her, but found nothing. Given the extremely dry ground, the guy would have had to do something as stupid as drop a cigarette butt to leave any evidence of his existence, and he hadn’t. That’s if he existed at all. But Daniel wouldn’t hold it against her if she’d been scared enough to imagine someone.

Earlier Daniel had gotten the quickie summation of her job history. Apparently, she had received nothing but sterling reviews by supervisors in Child Protective Services. A few quotes from her annual reviews said things like, “Really cares for the kids,” as well as “Lindsay is practical, kind and refuses to let down a child who counts on her.” If the supervisor was to be believed, she was adept at dealing with the abusive adults as well as the children. She had a talent for matching adults and children with the right therapists, too.

She’d done social work for nine years, the last three with CPS. If she hadn’t yet cracked and knocked off a vicious abuser, why would she now?

Of course, cops were known to break eventually, too, and do something they wouldn’t have ten years before or even a month before. While Daniel couldn’t entirely rule her out as a suspect, he was more interested in Shane, and then in gathering information from neighbors, friends and people who’d hired Martin along the way. If the man had been capable of losing it with his nephew the way he had, he could have lashed out at other people as well.

At Martin’s house, Daniel parked, turned off the engine and looked at Lindsay. “I’m taking you in with me because you’ll have a better idea what Shane had with him and whether anything is missing. I’ll ask you not to touch anything and to stay with me.”

She retorted, “Why are you treating this like a crime scene?”

“Because trouble could have started here and followed him to his brother’s house.”

Her clipped nod managed to convey surface agreement underlaid by skepticism.

Daniel had the keys that had been in Martin’s pocket. It took him a few tries to find the right one to open the front door. It led directly into the living room, which lacked any suggestion of a woman’s influence. Scratched, worn hardwood floors were matched by dingy off-white walls, unadorned by art. Instead, a big recliner faced a flat-screen TV. The sofa seemed an afterthought.

His nose twitched at the trace of an unpleasant odor. Lindsay’s eyes widened and her head turned. She locked her fingers together at her waist. “Is that…?”

“Something dead? I don’t think so.” That would be an all-too familiar odor for him. This wasn’t the singed smell that had permeated the kitchen at the crime scene, either.

She didn’t look all that reassured but followed him to the kitchen. He almost gagged when he pulled the trash from under the sink.

“Can we relax the ‘don’t touch’ rule long enough to throw this out?” she asked, making an awful face.

“Once I poke through it.” He’d found useful evidence in garbage cans or dumpsters before, but felt certain that wouldn’t be the case here.

When he donned latex gloves, Lindsay retreated a few steps. “You’re braver than I am.”

He smiled. “I doubt that. Cowards don’t do your job.”

Those blue eyes flashed at him. “You’re right about that.”

Beneath dirty food containers and a bunch of beer cans, he found a pound of hamburger that was now gray and all too clearly the source of the stench. Daniel took the plastic bag out to a garbage can he’d noted during the earlier visit. Lindsay stayed on the back porch, sucking in fresh air.

“None of that looked recent,” she said when he returned.

“No.” He’d noticed the same.

“But…does that mean neither of them had dinner the night before last?”

“Let’s look in the fridge.”

“Do we have to?” she mumbled.

Daniel outright grinned as he swung open the refrigerator door. Another package of hamburger wasn’t looking good. Otherwise, racks held mustard, mayonnaise and ketchup, a half gallon of milk—nearly empty, he discovered, when he lifted it—onion and celery in the vegetable drawer, and a pizza box on the top shelf. He took it out and decided it was still edible. He tipped the open box toward Lindsay.

“I suppose that was dinner.”

“His, maybe. More would have been gone if Shane had had some. He’s a teenage boy.”

Her eyes glittered with anger he understood. “You’re saying the creep beat him because, what, he didn’t throw away some wadded paper towels and a few beer or pop cans?”

“Something like that,” he agreed.

“I assumed Uncle Martin had cooked, with the understanding that Shane would do the clean-up.” That anger still carrying her, she said, “Can we check out Shane’s room?”

“You know which one it is?”

“I was with Shane when Martin helped carry his stuff up. Saying how glad he was to have Shane, and how he wished he’d known how his brother had treated his own son.” She shook her head in disgust. “Apparently, the abuse was okay for him because Shane wasn’t his.”

They started up the stairs. To distract himself from the sway of her hips in front of him, Daniel commented, “In my experience, it’s not usually the good guys who get murdered. It’s drug dealers, gang members, people trying to screw other people over. The exception is victims of domestic abuse.”

She waited for him on the landing, a crinkle forming on her forehead. “This is a turnaround for you, then.”

“When this happens, it’s usually because a woman or an older kid fights back. Grabs a knife or gun.” He shrugged.

He almost regretted saying it, because wariness showed on her face again. “That’s why Shane is at the top of your list.”

“I’m afraid so,” Daniel admitted. “I won’t railroad him, Lindsay. I promise.”

She searched his eyes with an intensity that shook him. He wasn’t used to suspecting someone might have actually seen parts of his psyche he’d rather keep hidden. As a cop and a former soldier, he had plenty he never talked about. He didn’t look away, though; he wasn’t sure he could.

Finally, she dipped her head, indicating—what? Acceptance? Belief in him?

He could only hope.

One step into Shane’s room and Daniel knew the boy had been here today and was gone. Dresser drawers remained open. Lindsay peered under the bed, urged him to open the closet door. Empty.

Finally, staring into the closet, she said, “At least he has his stuff.”

If that was the good news, he didn’t want to hear the bad.

His phone rang while he was locking the front door, Lindsay having already started down the porch steps. Unfamiliar number, but local area code. He answered.

“Detective Deperro, this is State Patrol Officer William Lasher. I have the boy I was told you’re looking for.”

“That’s good news.” He was aware of Lindsay stopping, turning to look at him. “Where did you find him?”

“The kid had gotten a surprising distance from Sadler. He’d had his thumb out on Highway 97 near Redmond.”

“I’ll come pick him up,” Daniel said.

“Oh, we’re on our way to you. Can’t say the boy is happy—” there was a smile in Lasher’s voice “—but he’s gobbling a double cheeseburger and fries, so I’d say he’s okay.”

Daniel laughed. “Hey, he’s a teenage boy. Bottomless pit.”

“That’s for sure. I have two of ’em at home.”

Daniel thanked him and they agreed to meet at the Sadler police station. He could see from Lindsay’s expression that she thought he’d isolate the kid in an interrogation room and take out his rubber hose.

“I want to sit in on your talk with him,” she said firmly.

“You’re entitled,” he agreed. “Unless you or we come up with another family member willing to take responsibility for Shane, you’ll need to stand in as his guardian.”

She eyed him suspiciously, then climbed into his SUV. Lindsay Engle was one feisty woman, who wouldn’t appreciate his smile.

THE BOY STARED anxiously at Daniel. Small for his age, he looked downright pathetic with the bruising in full color, the swelling that distorted his face, and the way he held one arm across his torso as if protecting it. Daniel had broken ribs before and knew how painful they were. Shane’s right hand was wrapped to immobilize several fingers, which would rule out writing or texting. The still grossly swollen lips turned his speech into a mumble.

Lindsay had very gently hugged him and murmured something in his ear. Now she sat on the boy’s side of the table, where she could fix a distrustful gaze on Daniel.

“Are you making me go back to that foster home?” Shane asked her.

Lindsay shook her head. “No, we’ve found a permanent placement for you. You’ll like this family.”

Not hard to see Shane’s doubt.

“Why did you leave the Prices’ home?” Daniel asked. “Ms. Engle has been worried about you.”

Shane shot a quick look her way. “I’m sorry. I just thought…” He didn’t finish.

“Did either of the Prices do or say anything that frightened you?” she asked him.

His shoulders hunched. “Not really. He—Mr. Price—looked mean.”

Enough chitchat. “When did you last see your uncle Martin?” Daniel asked.

The kid’s puzzlement appeared genuine. “Yesterday morning. When he said I had to go to school and to get out of the house.”

“Has he contacted you?”

“How could he?” He sounded confused. “I don’t have a phone or anything like that.”

“He could have had his call put through to your hospital room.”

“The only person who called was Ms. Engle.” His expression changed. He drew into himself, appearing to shrink. “Is he trying to get me back? Like, claiming it wasn’t him who hurt me?”

“No—” Lindsay broke off at Daniel’s signal.

He said bluntly, “Your uncle is dead, Shane.”

Shane gaped. “What? How?”

“He was murdered. Ms. Engle found his body.”

His wild stare swung between Daniel and Lindsay. “But… I don’t get it.” And then he drew in a sharp breath. “You think I killed him?”

Daniel modulated his tone. “I have to ask, Shane. The fact that you were missing at the same time he was murdered doesn’t look good.”