Buried Truth Read online

“Hello. Who am I speaking with?”

  “A friend. I have a story you will be most interested in, I’m sure.”

  She frowned and pressed the phone closer to hear.

  “Who did you say you are?”

  “I didn’t, but you will be hearing from me soon.”

  “I don’t talk to people unless they identify themselves.” She tried for a strong tone, in spite of a tickle of unease in her stomach. “Who is this, please?”

  A harsh laugh filled her ear. “We have not had the pleasure of meeting. Yet.”

  She sat up straighter. “Identify yourself or I’m hanging up.”

  “Such rudeness doesn’t become you.” More laughter. “And your braid does not flatter, Ms. Hernandes. You should keep your hair loose.”

  The phone disconnected.

  Her body erupted in prickles of fear. She cranked on the engine and locked the doors. Breath coming in panicky bursts, she careened off down the road. No one in the rearview. No one following behind. Should she call the police? Remembering her DWI arrest, she knew she did not want to have anything to do with law enforcement again.

  Calm down. Think.

  Who was the guy anyway? His voice was unfamiliar. Probably just a crank caller.

  But he’d been watching her.

  She took a deep breath, starting violently when the phone rang again. After another look in the rearview, she pulled over. This time she checked the number and kept the engine running. With trembling fingers she answered, relieved when her editor’s voice boomed over the line.

  “Some vandalism up at Bill Cloudman’s property. Need you to check it out and write it up.”

  At the mention of Bill’s name, Heather felt an odd tightening in her stomach. “Isn’t there anyone else who can do it?”

  “Just one person and that’s you. Go take a picture before it gets dark. And add a bit to the webpage about it.”

  “But …”

  He’d already hung up.

  Heather disconnected. Vandalism wasn’t exactly a riveting subject and Bill’s property had been abandoned so long it was the perfect target for teenagers with nothing else to do. It was also remote.

  The stranger’s voice whispered through her memory.

  We have not had the pleasure of meeting.

  Yet.

  She considered calling someone to go along with her, but there was no one she could think of. Steeling her spine and saying another quick prayer, she drove along, ignoring the now-familiar knocking from her engine.

  Her phone remained silent for the rest of the drive. The road sloped upward, twining through stands of trees. Every small movement drew her attention, every dart of a lizard on the shoulder made her jump.

  “It was just a crazy crank caller, Heather. Relax and do your job before you lose this one, too.”

  As the miles ticked by, she realized for the first time how utterly remote this little corner of South Dakota was. Acres of dry grass and rock-strewn hills, with not a soul to be seen anywhere.

  Gritting her teeth, she continued on.

  When she finally pulled onto Bill’s property a half hour later, her mouth dropped open. She wasn’t sure which shocked her more, the bloodred paint defacing the house, or the sight of Bill Cloudman, his dark eyes filled with thunder, staring right at her.

  TWO

  Heather tried to plaster what she hoped was a professional look on her face. “I … I didn’t know you were here.”

  “Didn’t see a need to alert the press.” His face was expressionless, but his eyes kindled with emotion. “Aunt Jean told me you moved back and got a job with the paper.” He looked away. “I guess you didn’t get any of my calls or emails.”

  She felt a rush of shame. Maybe she should have handled things differently, but their last encounter was a messy tangle of humiliation and she’d wanted no part in reliving it then. Or now. Best to keep things professional. “I was told to come and write up the vandalism. Any ideas who messed up your property?”

  He shook his head. “No, and I don’t want it in the paper.”

  A big black dog charged out from the trees and raced over, immediately rolling over at Heather’s feet. She scratched his smooth belly. “Hello, Tank. Glad to be home?” She looked again at the garish paint. “It looks recent. Is somebody trying to tell you something?”

  He folded his arms across his chest. “It’s not important. Don’t you have a bigger story to cover?”

  A bigger story? She flushed. Not anymore. Maybe not ever. “No, I don’t.”

  He blinked and looked away at the sun as it melted into the horizon. “There’s no story here,” he said in a softer tone.

  As much as she wanted to get right back into her car and drive away, she knew she had to face this moment, to stand straight and hold on to the new, stronger person she’d become. “I think there is, and I’ve been assigned to write it up.” She took out her camera and aimed it at the paint.

  He stepped in front of her, broad chest blocking her view.

  She glared at him. “One picture?”

  His lips tightened, but he didn’t move, muscled arms folded across his front.

  “Thanks anyway.” She would not beg. She’d done that before and her own cowardly pleas still rang in her ears. If he would not cooperate, at least she could leave. She wrenched open the Jeep door and jammed the key in the ignition. It took a few moments before she realized the engine was not cooperating. After two more tries, she slammed a hand on the steering wheel. “Piece of junk,” she muttered.

  Bill walked to her window. “I’ll give you a ride home.”

  “No, thanks.” Riding next to him? Sitting beside the strong, silent man from whom she had run like a wounded animal? It was too much to bear. She shouldered her bag and got out. “I’ll walk.”

  He sighed. “I’m going to have to follow you in the truck to make sure you get home, and it’s gonna take all night.”

  “I can get home okay, Bill.” She felt flustered, embarrassed to be floundering in front of him, of all people. “I’m … I’m not the same person I was before.” She didn’t understand her need to tell him that she’d grown up, overcome her addiction. Most of all she hated the slight wobble in her own voice. Why should he believe her? Sometimes she didn’t even believe herself.

  “It’s too long a walk and too remote an area.” He walked to his truck and opened the passenger side. “Get in.”

  Forcing herself to take a breath, she tried to think rationally. He was right—it would take her hours to walk home and the strange phone call still bothered her. Surely she could handle sitting next to Bill Cloudman for the drive. It wasn’t as if the man would bore her with small talk. Just a few miles and it would be over. She looked into his dark eyes.

  “All right,” she said. With as much dignity as she could muster, she got in. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

  Bill grunted and took off at a good pace, but twice she caught him peering in the rearview mirror.

  “Looking for something?”

  “No.”

  “So you really have no idea who trashed your house?”

  He gave a noncommittal shrug. She shot him a stealthy look. There was a sprinkling of silver in his dark hair and he looked tired, more tired than she’d ever seen him. His broad shoulders seemed to carry some tension. She had the sudden urge to speak, in spite of herself.

  “I heard about Johnny. I’m sorry.”

  He blinked and the corners of his mouth softened for a moment. “Thanks. Me, too.”

  She should have called him, sent a note at least, but she hadn’t had the courage. Her own weakness pained her.

  They lapsed into an uncomfortable silence. She was again struck by how much had changed in the time they’d been apart. She remembered riding in that very seat beside him, exploring the incredible landscape—until everything fell apart. The pain and humiliation of their last meeting rose up as strong as ever.

  She’d begged and pleaded. Just let me go. I promise I�
�ll never drive drunk again.

  He’d looked at her with eyes full of tenderness as he’d arrested her anyway.

  The thought made her squirm and the truck seemed to slow to a snail’s pace.

  The sun set into a pool of fire as they drove back to Rock-vale, followed by the appearance of a sliver of moon in a shroud of clouds that hinted at a summer storm. He turned off the main road and eased the truck along a twisted gravel path that served as the driveway to her father’s house. Perched on ten acres of land, it would be his retirement getaway.

  If he ever can retire, she thought, feeling an uncomfortable squeezing in her gut. She’d cost him so much and he’d bailed her out so many times at his own expense. Sonny Fernandes would never admit it, but saving his daughter by paying for a treatment program and legal fees had wiped out any chance that he could enjoy his golden years anytime soon. She felt the stab of guilt again as she pictured him supervising a construction crew building a bridge somewhere in California.

  Soon, Heather. You’ll prove yourself again so you can pay him back. All she needed was a story that would lift her out of anonymity and, if she was patient, Dr. Egan might be just the source—if he would trust her enough to give her access to a lab story. Her editor would have to run it, even though it wasn’t her beat.

  She sighed as they drove past a pile of tangled branches. In the meantime, she would work on fixing up her father’s place. Not a glamorous job, but a work of love.

  Bill pulled to a stop and Heather grabbed at her bag. In her haste she upended the purse, spilling the contents onto the floor. With clumsy fingers she shoveled the things back in and practically ran for the porch, calling out as she went, “Thanks for the ride.”

  She let herself into the house with a surge of relief. She’d made it through the trip without saying something stupid—or worse, crying. It was over. The scrabble of paws on the floor announced Choo Choo, a graying Labrador mix. He lumbered up and presented himself for petting.

  “Hello, baby. Did you miss me?” She got him a small chunk of boiled chicken from the fridge, which wouldn’t be too hard on his old teeth, and kissed his head. “Mama needs a shower, Choo Choo. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”

  She did her best to wash away thoughts of Bill and her sorry excuse for a career. Wrapped in a light robe and relaxed for what seemed like the first time that day, she padded barefoot into the kitchen for a glass of iced tea, gazing out the window into the darkened landscape. Her father’s property and that of his neighbor Charlie Moon were not actually on reservation land, but their acres mingled with Eagle Rock reservation in a seamless expanse of plateaus and gorges.

  In the distant rocky canyon that divided her property from Moon’s, a light flicked on and off. She froze. Whoever was moving around had no business there, unless it was Charlie himself doing some night hiking.

  Not likely, as he had a bum foot and a small child to take care of. It was impossible to tell if the intruder was actually on her property or Charlie’s, but one thing she knew for sure—whoever it was didn’t belong there.

  She threw on some clothes, and grabbed her father’s rifle and a flashlight.

  Choo Choo looked hopefully up at her.

  “You need to stay here this time. I’ll be back soon,” she said, hurriedly pulling the door closed behind her.

  Making her way as quickly as she could, sticking to the cover of the massive pines that clung to the rocks on either side of the canyon, she pushed forward, keeping the trespasser’s bobbing flashlight in view. Several times she had to stop and catch her breath, waiting for the gleam of light to show again.

  Finally the light stopped and a softer, steadier glow took its place. A lantern. The intruder must have fixed on a spot to explore. She felt a sudden reckless anger surge through her. This place was entrusted to her, the only thing her father owned free and clear, and this person, whoever it was, was probably out looking for fossils to steal and sell on the black market. Or maybe it was some teens bent on finding a place to party. Didn’t matter. She was going to make sure they left and never came back.

  “Hey, down there,” she yelled. Her voice rang through the quiet. “You’re trespassing on private property. You need to get out of here right now.”

  The light was extinguished. She waited a moment to listen for the sounds of scuffling feet, but there were none. Flicking on her own flashlight, she beamed it down into the gorge.

  A shot rang out, whistling past her head. She jerked back behind the tree for cover and readied her own weapon, heart hammering in her chest. Another shot sizzled by. From a crouched position she aimed the rifle high. Hopefully a warning shot would be enough to show the intruder who he was dealing with and convince him to leave.

  She squeezed off a round. The report of the rifle deafened her. By the time she raised the weapon to fire again, a dark shape rose from behind the clump of nearby rocks and hurtled on top of her. The gun flew from her grasp and sailed through the air. She rolled and tumbled, the attacker still holding on to her. Her hair fell across her face and she couldn’t get a look at the man, but his arms were like iron straps as they held her fast. She felt a calloused palm over her mouth before she could suck in enough breath to scream.

  “Quiet,” Bill Cloudman grunted in her face, “or whoever that is will kill us both.”

  Bill kept his hand over her mouth until he was sure she wouldn’t scream and give their location away. When he eased his hand aside, he whispered a warning. “No more noise.”

  He got to his feet, staying low behind a massive granite boulder, and tried to listen for sounds of movement. Heather scrambled up next to him.

  “What are you doing here?” she whispered.

  He pulled something from his pocket and handed it to her. “You dropped your phone in the truck. Came back to return it and I saw somebody on your property. Thought I’d check it out, until Annie Oakley came out with guns drawn and the shooting match started.”

  “Hilarious, Bill.” She pressed closer to his back. “Who’s out there?”

  He ignored the prickle on his neck where she spoke into his ear, the clean scent of shampoo that clung to her hair. “Not sure.” If it was Oscar, then it was time to settle things, and he didn’t want her anywhere close by. “I am going to go down there and see if whoever it was is holed up. Go back to the house and lock the door.”

  She was about to answer when something streaked by their legs. “Choo Choo. Come back here,” she hissed. “I must not have closed the door all the way. I’ve got to get my dog.” She moved forward and he grabbed at her arm.

  “Go inside.”

  “I’m not going to let him get hurt.”

  “It’s just a dog.”

  She shook him off. “Like Tank is just a dog?”

  He bit back a comment, wondering how she’d managed to best him already. She was smart, more than smart, a fact he’d known the moment she’d arrived in town the first time. He felt the warring desires to draw close and keep her at arm’s length. In the past, he’d struggled between the two compulsions, got right to the brink of letting down his defenses, and then he’d arrested her for drunk driving and that was the end of anything they might have had. Maybe someday he would be able to tell her why he hadn’t shown mercy in spite of her pleas. Someday. But right now was not the time.

  Heather retrieved her rifle and moved along a ridge of rock before stopping to turn back to him.

  Bill resisted the urge to hoist her over his shoulder and hog-tie her. Instead he hurried to catch up as she moved farther away. At least he could try to prevent her getting shot. If the shooter really was Oscar … He shook away the notion. Deal with the situation as you would any other, Cloudman.

  He caught up with her when she stopped to peek over the top of a hunk of granite.

  They stood silently, their breaths the only sound.

  He strained to see any sign of movement or spark of light.

  Nothing.

  “They must have gone,�
� Heather whispered, her damp curls brushing his cheek. “Choo Choo is probably hiding around here somewhere.”

  Bill shook his head. “I’m going to take the trail down to the bottom. Don’t follow or you might get hurt. If there’s trouble, call for help.”

  “But what about …?”

  “If your dog is down there, I’ll bring him back.” Without waiting for an answer, he drew his weapon and moved down the dark slope between two massive walls of stone. The strange insulating quality of being enveloped in rock awed him, as it had since he was a little boy, scrambling through South Dakota’s labyrinthine trails. He’d always felt most at home deep in some stone passage with no people nearby, yet still surrounded by the hidden crush of life that filled every pore of this place. His aunt Jean used to chuckle at him and say, “Why do you think God made those cliffs so high, Billy? Because He wanted you to look up.”

  Tonight the isolation held a tone of menace. He slowed his pace, listening for the slightest noise or movement. The far-off whine of a coyote floated through the canyon, answered by a yowl from the other side. The gunshots hadn’t scared them away any more than had the locals’ determined efforts to dissuade them from eating their chickens. Coyotes were persistent.

  He grimaced, thinking of someone else who fit that description. Crazy woman, almost got herself killed waving that rifle around. That bravado could be deadly. Didn’t she realize what she was walking into?

  No, she didn’t. And he didn’t know for sure, either. Not until he got a visual.

  Breath controlled, body inching along in painful slow motion, Bill pressed on.

  He eased around another pinnacle of rock, feet as silent as he could make them on the red earth. He flicked on a pen-light. A partial shoe print caught his attention, pressed into the dry powder of the path. He bent to look closer. An athletic shoe, worn, from the look of the impression. The air seemed to thicken around him.

  Farther along he caught a tire impression, small and narrow, blurred in the dirt along the trail. He waited until a cloud passed over the slice of moon before he moved closer.

  Even as he crept around the corner, he knew he was not alone. Was it instinct or was his subconscious hearing what his ears could not? Didn’t matter. The feeling that had kept him alive for an entire career hummed in his body. He took a deep breath. “Give it up, whoever you are.”