Snowblind Justice. Cindi Myers
hey, the clutter worked for him. “Emily knows Alex Woodruff and she’s studied psychology,” he said. “She can give us insights into his character and what he’s likely to do next.”
“She’s an economics major—not a profiler.”
“We’ll still consult the CBI profiler,” Brodie said. “But I think Emily will come to this with fresh eyes. Besides, she knows this county almost as well as you do. She might be able to give us some new ideas about places to look for him.”
Travis shook his head. “He’s probably left the county by now. The highway is open, and he has to know we’re on his trail. A smart man would be halfway to Mexico by now.”
“You and I both know criminals rarely behave the way most people would. Alex may be smart, but he’s arrogant, too. He’s been taunting you, leaving those business cards, killing a woman on your family ranch, going after one of your deputies. He still thinks he can beat you.”
“Maybe.” Travis fixed Brodie with a stare that had probably caused more than one felon to shake in his shoes. “This isn’t some scheme you’ve come up with in order for you to spend more time with Emily, is it?” he asked. “Because I’m not going to stand by and let that happen again.”
“Let what happen?” Brodie had a strong sense of déjà vu. He recalled another conversation with Travis that had begun like this, five years ago, when his friend—only a deputy then—had accused him of trying to seduce Emily.
“Emily really hurt when the two of you broke things off,” Travis said. “It took a long time for her to get over you. I don’t want her to have to go through that again.”
Brodie bristled. “She’s the one who ended it, not me.”
“You must have had something to do with it.”
Brodie ground his teeth together. He did not want to argue about this with Travis. “I didn’t come here to get back together with your sister,” he said. “I came to help with this case. I asked Emily to consult because I think she’s another resource we can draw on.”
Travis uncrossed his arms, and the tension around his mouth eased. “Fair enough. I won’t rule out anything that might help us catch Alex Woodruff. Speaking of that, have you had any luck tracking down Lynn Wallace’s car?”
“Not yet. She drove a white Volvo.” Brodie opened his phone and read the license plate number from his notes. “Nothing flashy. Fairly common. Easy to hide.”
“Right. I’ll put my deputies on the lookout.” He turned to a map pinned to the wall of his office. Pins showed the locations where each of the Ice Cold Killer’s seven victims had been found. “Alex and Tim working together concentrated the murders in three areas,” he said. “Christy O’Brien and Anita Allbritton were killed within Eagle Mountain town limits. Kelly Farrow and Michaela Underwood were both murdered in the area around Dixon Pass and the national forest service land near there. Fiona Winslow, Lauren Grenado and Lynn Wallace were all killed within a couple of miles of the Walking W ranch.” Travis indicated a third grouping of pins on the map.
“Does that tell us anything about where Alex might be hiding now?” Brodie asked.
Travis pointed to a red pin on County Road Five. “We know Tim and Alex were staying at Tim’s aunt’s cabin, here, when the first three murders took place. They spent some time in a vacation home here.” He indicated another pin. “And they may have been at this summer cabin in the national forest, here, for the other murders. Now—who knows?”
A tapping on the door frame interrupted them. Both men turned to see office manager Adelaide Kinkaid, a sixtysomething woman who wore what looked like red monkeys dangling from her earlobes, and a flowing red-and-purple tunic over black slacks. “We just got word that a fresh slide on Dixon Pass sent one vehicle over the edge and buried two others,” she said. “Fortunately, they were able to dig everyone out pretty quickly, but the road is closed until they can clear up the mess.”
Brodie groaned. “How many delivery trucks do you suppose got caught on the wrong side of this one?” he asked.
“Probably about as many as were able to leave town when the road opened,” Adelaide said. “Everyone is just trading places.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” Brodie said. “You do seem to know everything.” He leaned toward her. “Are those monkey earrings?”
“Yes.” She tapped one earring with a red-painted fingernail. “Do you like them?”
“Only you could pull off a look like that, Adelaide,” Brodie said, grinning.
She swatted his shoulder. “You’re the kind of man I always warned my daughters about.”
“What kind is that?”
“Too smart and good-looking for your own good. The kind of man who’s oblivious to the broken hearts he leaves behind.”
“Adelaide, Brodie is here as a fellow law enforcement officer,” Travis said. “He deserves our respect.”
“I’m sure he’s a sterling officer,” Adelaide said. “And a fine man all around. Just not marriage material—which is probably okay with him.” She grinned, then turned to Travis. “And speaking of marriages, don’t you have a tux fitting to see to?”
Color rose in the sheriff’s cheeks. “I don’t need you to keep track of my schedule, Addie,” he said. “Right now I have a case to work on.”
“You always have a case to work on,” Adelaide said. “You only have one wedding.” She whirled and stalked away.
Brodie settled back in his chair once more. “Do you have a tux fitting?” he asked.
“I canceled it.”
“Unless you’re going to get married in your uniform, are you sure that’s a good idea?”
Travis scowled at Brodie. “They have my measurements. They don’t need me.” His phone rang and he answered it. “Hello?”
He listened for a moment, then said, “I’ve got Brodie in the office. I’m going to put you on speaker.” He punched the keypad. “All right. Say that again.”
“I’ve got what looks like another victim of the Ice Cold Killer,” Deputy Dwight Prentice said. “Taped up, throat cut, left in her car near the top of Dixon Pass. Only, she’s still alive. The ambulance is on its way.”
Travis was already standing. “So are we,” he said.
The woman—a once-pretty brunette, her skin bleached of color and her hair matted with blood—stared up at them, glassy-eyed, her lips moving, but no sound coming out. “You’re safe now,” Brodie said, leaning over her. “We’re going to take care of you.” He stepped back as the EMTs moved in to transfer the woman to a waiting gurney.
“We’ve already called for a helicopter,” the older of the two paramedics said. “I think this is more than the clinic in Eagle Mountain can handle. They’ve agreed to meet us at the ball fields, where it’s open enough for them to land.”
Brodie’s gaze shifted to the woman again. She had closed her eyes and her breath came in ragged gasps. He wanted to grab her hand and encourage her to hang on, but he needed to move out of the way and let the paramedics do their job.
Travis, who had been talking to Dwight and highway patrolman Ryder Stewart, motioned for Brodie to join them. “Her name is Denise Switcher,” Ryder said. “We found her driver’s license in the purse on the passenger floorboard, and the registration on the car matches. Her address is in Fort Collins.”
“Did she say anything about what happened?” Brodie asked.