Dust Up With The Detective. Danica Winters
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doors it was a different story—late-night fights about his schedule, the stress that came with being in law enforcement and the money. In the end, there was never enough money, time or even love.
Blake pulled to a stop and got out, waiting for him.
He parked next to her and met her at her car. “So, fill me in. What kind of trouble has my brother been getting himself into now?”
Robert had always fallen in and out of the bottle and usually directly into the hands of the law, leaving Jeremy to clean up his mess. The last time he’d talked to Robert they’d had one hell of a beer-fueled fight, ending with Robert on the ground and him promising to never lift another finger to save his brother’s lousy carcass. Yet here he was again.
“I was called here a few weeks ago, but it wasn’t for Tiffany, as your mother assumed.” Blake leaned against her patrol car, the round curve of her hips on full display. “This time, Robert was having an altercation with his neighbor, Todd O’Brien.” She pointed in the direction of the property that was full of rusted-out shells of cars.
“This happen before?”
She nodded and gave a slight shrug. “You know how it is—most people out here live with a militia-like mentality. It’s all about the guns, the freedom of speech and action. Out here the law is more of a recommendation than a reality. When something needs to be handled, vigilante justice reigns.”
It was funny. No matter where you were in Montana—whether in the city of Missoula or the hillsides on the outskirts of Silver Bow County—some of the same problems arose. Usually they centered on two things: guns and liquor. Sometimes he couldn’t help feeling like he lived in the Wild West.
Jeremy looked up at his brother’s house. The lights were off, and the doors were closed. Leaves littered the front porch. “You think Robert said something, and it set this O’Brien off?”
“We couldn’t make much of the situation. Neither wanted to press charges, but we left them both with a warning that they needed to bring the conflict down and keep it under control.” She sighed. “Without one of them wanting to press charges, there wasn’t much we could do. Your brother was pretty upset about the guns, though, wanted us to at least write O’Brien a ticket for a noise disturbance, but we hadn’t heard any of it.”
Jeremy nodded. “My brother has a way of pissing people off and getting in trouble. You out here often?” Somehow it felt like a poorly timed come-on.
She nodded, with a faint smile like she had heard it, too, but was letting it go. “Your brother has some issues...but I always said you can’t judge someone by their family.”
He raised an eyebrow. “You think?”
“I’m nothing like my mother—at least I hope not.” She laughed. “And from what your mother’s told me, I assume you’re nothing like your brother.”
There was something in her voice that made it clear she didn’t necessarily like Robert. But did that mean she liked him? He shook the thought from his head. He couldn’t read anything into this.
She made her way up the front porch and knocked on the door.
There was no answer.
“You think he’s still working in the mine?” Blake asked.
“Probably. We can run down there and take a look. It’s not too far,” he said, motioning her to follow him as he led the way down the well-worn path that headed to the Foreman Mine.
Though he tried not to, he kept glancing back, making sure she was okay. Each time he checked on her, she looked away as if she was purposefully avoiding his gaze. The air between them filled with the crunch of dead pine needles as they hiked.
“He mine copper?” she asked, as if she was as uncomfortable with the silence between them as he was.
“Yep, but he finds gold and other heavy metals, as well. Makes a decent living, but you couldn’t get me to do what he does.”
“Mining is hard work.”
“That’s not it,” he said. “I couldn’t handle being underground all day, every day.” Though, as he said it, it reminded him of his own job. There he was usually sitting behind his desk, exploring the dark corners of a crime, looking for any clue that would lead to the mother lode.
“You scared of the dark?” She looked at him with a teasing smirk. “It’s good to know that even a tough guy like you has a weakness.”
It wasn’t the dark he was afraid of. No...it was the fear of the world collapsing in around him. He’d already had it happen once when his marriage ended. He wasn’t about to open himself up to such a failure again.
He glanced over at her, catching her gaze. “We all have weaknesses.”
She slipped slightly, catching herself with the help of the branch of a small pine.
He took her hand. Her sweaty fingers gripped his just long enough for her to get her feet under her, but she quickly let go to brush herself off.
“Ha!” she said, her cheeks turning a light shade of red. “I guess my weakness is walking.”
Jeremy laughed, the sound out of place in the quiet, stunted forest. For a moment he considered holding her hand the rest of the way down to the mouth of the mine, but she didn’t seem like the type who wanted help, and he couldn’t just elbow his way into her life—she wasn’t his wife. She wasn’t anything but a former crush. In truth, he didn’t know her anymore. All he really knew was that she had her daughter, her mother and a job that, when she spoke of it, made her entire body tense.
He motioned for her to take the lead, admittedly because he wanted to watch her butt but ostensibly so he could make sure she was safe as she steadily made her way down the hill. He wasn’t disappointed as he watched her. She moved with a quiet grace, smooth and steady as she carefully picked her way between the granite boulders as they headed into the maw of the earth.
Blake took out her flashlight and clicked it on. “Is this it?” she asked, motioning toward the dark, cavelike entrance.
In truth, it had been years since he’d been to the mine. The last time he’d been there the opening had been easily identifiable. Yet as she flashed her light downward, all he could make out were mounds of pegmatite-rich, reddish dirt.
“It should be here. Right here.” He frowned. Grabbing his phone, he clicked on the light and moved into the muddy hole. “There should be a way in here.” He prodded around, but the ground that filled the entrance shaft was as solid and compact as cement.
“Are you sure this is the place?” Blake asked.
“I thought so.”
There was something wrong. The dirt in the entrance was wet, but it hadn’t rained in a month. And even though the dirt that filled the shaft’s entrance was compact, the ground under their feet was loose, compressing as he shifted his weight. It had to have been freshly exposed.
He took a step forward. His toe caught on a loose rock, tripping him. He shone his light at the ground. Beneath the cobble that littered the area was a crushed lantern—the lantern Robert hung on the entrance of the mine any time he was underground.
“You don’t think—” Blake started.
Jeremy stopped her with a raise of his hand. He couldn’t stand hearing what he already knew—the mine had collapsed.
He prayed Robert wasn’t inside, but the lamp told him all he needed to know. Robert was trapped, and there was only a slight chance he could still be alive.
The insides of Jeremy’s hands where covered in blisters. Dirt caked his nails, and his knuckles were bloody where he had torn them against the earth, but the