In Close. Brenda Novak
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remember any number anyone ever told him. It made his father proud, and made him feel smart.
But that was the only time he ever felt smart.
382-24-6832…
406-385-9472… 406-269-2698… 12/24/89…
Why had Claire lied when she’d been asked why she’d gone to the cabin?
Now that Isaac was all stitched up and everyone was gone, he couldn’t help being curious. Those files had to be important or she wouldn’t have been so evasive. Neither would she have driven out to the cabin at night, in the middle of the Fourth of July celebration, knowing she’d have only the benefit of a flashlight to retrieve them.
Whatever the reason, it wouldn’t remain a secret for long. Surely she had to realize that. As soon as the sheriff left her in her sister’s care, he’d head over to the studio to see what he could find. What did she think—that he’d wait until morning? That she’d have an opportunity to recover those documents herself?
Knowing Myles King, Isaac doubted he’d hold off. Given what’d happened to Claire’s mother, the sheriff would dust for prints, check for tire tracks, do all he could to figure out who’d followed her to the studio, and why. And he’d do it as soon as possible, hoping that his efforts might also shed light on Alana’s disappearance—or at least convince everyone there was no connection between the two incidents.
Gingerly pulling on a clean T-shirt, Isaac decided to go back and get the files Claire had dropped. If he hurried, he should be able to get in and out without anyone being the wiser. What with the twenty-minute drive each way, helping Claire into the house and explaining to Leanne, it would take Myles at least an hour to get back. Isaac just had to dodge the deputies Myles had promised to send for her car.
Maybe she wouldn’t thank him for helping her, but he felt he owed her for letting her down all those years ago. He’d been an ass. Even he had to admit it. But there was something about her that brought out the worst in him.
Of course, she’d had her revenge. He’d had a long time to regret what he’d done, a long time to miss her. Although he’d made love with plenty of other women since, including several from around here, it had never been the same. And then there was the torture of one particular memory that didn’t go quite that far back....
He’d been tracking a moose in the Cabinet Mountains southwest of Libby, hoping to get a few good shots for a magazine called Montana Wilds, when he came across Claire and David camping out in the woods. They were newlyweds at the time and probably too poor to do any more than borrow Claire’s stepfather’s Winnebago to get away, so he wasn’t surprised that they hadn’t gone farther from home.
He was surprised, however, that of all the campers in the Chain of Lakes area he had to stumble on them. What seeing them together had done to him came as an even greater shock. They hadn’t heard him—they were far too engrossed in each other. He’d stood right where he’d emerged from the woods, only partially concealed by the trees, and watched David kiss and fondle his new bride as they made breakfast.
The sight had made him sick. And when he’d finally managed to clear his throat so they’d know they weren’t alone—he refused to slink off as if he’d been spying on them—Claire had angled her head to see around her husband’s shoulder. Embarrassment had registered on her face, but something else, as well. The look in her eyes told him she recognized the envy he was feeling.
Even worse, she’d derived a certain amount of satisfaction from it.
He hated that memory. Sometimes he hated Claire, too, for having such a strong hold on him despite his efforts to escape it. He was pretty sure she returned the sentiment. She wouldn’t even speak to him. If she saw him coming, she’d whip around and walk the other way. His career had taken off after a documentary he’d made on the impact of endangered status on the wolf population came to the attention of the editor at National Geographic a year or so after they’d quit seeing each other. That was when he’d started to travel. But Pineview was too small not to bump into her whenever he returned.
So, if he preferred to stay out of her life, why was he heading back to Alana’s studio to rescue whatever Claire didn’t want the sheriff to see?
He had no explanation for that. There was just something about her that made him do stupid things. Like sleeping with her for six months and not expecting to form an attachment. Like not turning away when she was being lovey-dovey with her husband so he wouldn’t have to carry that lasting and painful memory around with him. Like running hell-bent through the forest in an effort to reach her when she screamed—and just about puncturing his lung on a tree.
When he entered the studio’s clearing for the second time that evening, he found the place quiet and dark. The door stood open, exactly as he’d left it—a sign that no one had been there since.
He’d arrived in time. The files lay scattered on the floor.
Aiming his flashlight at the documents that had spilled out, he glanced over them and soon determined that they were case files—part of the investigation into Claire’s mother’s disappearance. He wasn’t sure why this was a secret. The sheriff must have a copy. That had to be where Claire had gotten this stuff in the first place.
He was sure of it until he read a report that talked about “inconsistencies” and realized that certain aspects of the case hadn’t been reported to the public. That meant Claire probably wasn’t supposed to know about them, suggesting she’d come by these through unofficial means.
Isaac raked a hand through his hair. “So that’s it.”
Careful not to pull on his stitches—Lord knew he’d bled enough for one night—he took all the papers and left the door halfway open, just as it had been before.
A car approached as he neared his own place. Using the darkness and the trees for cover, he crept close enough to the pitted dirt road to see who it was, and easily recognized the squad car. The deputies had arrived. Would they look around while they had the chance? Maybe…
Briefly, Isaac considered stopping whoever it was so he could hand over what he’d taken. Maybe there was something in these documents that would tell the sheriff why Claire had been attacked.
But he knew she didn’t want to give them up or she wouldn’t have lied, so Isaac figured he’d return them to her when he had the chance to do it discreetly.
He felt good about that decision—until he got home. After two hours spent reading through the various reports and interviews, he began to get a terrible feeling.
Something peculiar stood out....
He had to be wrong. Surely someone else would’ve noticed what he was seeing and brought it up if it was even a possibility.
Rubbing his eyes, which were bleary with fatigue, he wanted to let it go at that. He could be wrong. What was going through his mind wasn’t directly related to individual facts. It was more of a gut feeling about what all this information meant.
But it wouldn’t leave him alone....
“Shit,” he said when he set the files aside. If what he suspected was true, Claire was about to face another nasty shock.
And the sheriff was going to face his next big case.
4
Leanne wasn’t happy but that didn’t come as a surprise. To Claire’s dismay, her sister never seemed happy.
She watched Leanne maneuver her wheelchair to reach the nightstand, where she set the glass of water and the pain pills she’d brought in case Claire needed them later. The disgruntled frown that tugged at her lips bothered Claire, but not as much as the low-cut pink nightgown her sister was wearing. Held up by two black ribbons tied in bows, one over each shoulder, it went to her ankles—but it was too low-cut to be worn in front of a man other than an intimate boyfriend or husband.
And this was