LITMIR.BIZ

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eater, but faced with a plate piled high with sausages, eggs, bacon and muffins, he had struggled to finish. Wendy had made a comment that her kids would have been made to sit at the table until the last mouthful was gone. It had taken every ounce of diplomacy Esmée possessed not to respond. Instead, she had informed Wendy that she and Rhys would make their own arrangements for breakfast in the future. The proprietor’s initial outrage had been appeased when she realized Esmée was still prepared to pay the full bed-and-breakfast rate.

      It was a beautiful day, and the view was perfect. Across to her right, rolling fields of farmland and ranch land stretched away into the distance. To her left, up close, thick trees bordered the Coyote Mountain range.

      She wondered what it would be like to grow up in a place like this. Esmée’s own upbringing had been unconventional. Her father had died when she was seven and, from then on, her mother had followed the stories she needed to write her bestselling books. If they stayed anywhere long enough, Esmée attended a regular school. If not, she was homeschooled. But Portia wasn’t a traditionalist. Esmée learned as much from the outdoors as she did from her lessons. The long hikes her mother had taken her on when she was a child meant walking was in her blood.

      No matter where she was, no matter what the weather, Esmée still got the cravings. Those mountains were calling to her now. There were a few people she had planned to call, a couple of locations she wanted to visit. Nothing that couldn’t wait.

      Rhys was at an in-between age. He enjoyed walking, examining every leaf, bug, rock and stick, just the way Esmée had once done. Because he wasn’t capable of a sustained level of exercise, Esmée had a carrier so she could lift him onto her back when he started to tire.

      “Shall we go for a hike?” She pointed to the trail that led toward the trees.

      “Boots.” Rhys pointed to his bare feet. “Hat, screen, water...”

      Esmée laughed. He was listing the items she always told him they needed for a walk. Her insistence on telling him every little detail had paid off. “Yes, we need all of those things. Especially the hat and sunscreen on a day like today.”

      As they went inside to get ready, she thought about the different emotions this place brought up. She had faced heartache from the first instant she had arrived in Red Ridge, with Jack’s death. Even so, she felt more at home here than in any other place she had stayed. Was it time to think about staying in one place for a while? She looked back at the tranquil view. Even with the undercurrents, Red Ridge had plenty to recommend it.

      * * *

      Brayden’s role was straightforward. He was the lead search-and-rescue, or SAR, officer. If Frank Lanelli, the Red Ridge Police Department dispatcher, got a 911 call indicating a person, or group of people, may be lost or in danger, he immediately liaised with Brayden, who then took charge of the mission.

      The situation dictated the response. The Coyote Mountains were an attractive tourist destination and most calls were about hikers who had wandered off the trail. Brayden and Echo could deal with those alerts without any additional assistance. Sometimes things were more serious. All the K-9 teams had a basic level of search-and-rescue training and, now and then, it was necessary for Brayden to mobilize a larger force. That usually happened if the weather conditions were poor, or the search continued for several hours.

      There were occasions, of course, when the problem was just too big, or too dangerous. It didn’t happen often. When it did, he needed to call in other emergency agencies. Brayden and Echo went on regular training courses with other SAR teams, as well as medical services, the National Guard and helicopter rescue crews.

      Brayden spent a few hours at the start of each day in the training center. Together with Danica Gage, he had devised a program that kept Echo’s skills up-to-date and the dog’s fitness in peak condition. They reviewed the activities each month, looking at how Brayden and Echo worked together, analyzing the success of recent missions and comparing what they were doing to the work of SAR teams elsewhere.

      When training was over, if Frank hadn’t been in touch, Brayden checked in at the police-department building. Half a mile closer to town than the training center, the pleasant, one-story, redbrick building was the headquarters for twenty-four officers, plus the twelve officers of the K-9 team. When he wasn’t out on an SAR case, Brayden was a regular cop. The only difference was, he kept Echo with him at all times so they were ready to go as soon as a SAR call came in.

      The chief’s message had gotten through to Brayden. If he was going to keep a clear head, he needed to stay away from the Groom Killer case. That meant he was free to focus on the PD’s other big headache—the Larson brothers.

      For the past year, the RRPD had been trying to pin something on the dangerous, wealthy and influential Larson brothers. Finn Colton believed the identical twins, Noel and Evan, who were blessed with good looks and easy charm, were running a growing crime empire in the city. Although they had busted a few low-level crooks, whom they suspected of working for the Larsons, the police hadn’t been able to get any of them to name their employers. So far, they had also been unsuccessful in their efforts to find out where the gang stashed their guns, drugs and laundered money.

      Lorelei Wong greeted him from the front desk in her usual way, peering at him over the top of her silver-framed glasses as her fingers continued to fly over her keyboard.

      “Anything on Richie Lyman?” Brayden asked.

      Lorelei flipped through a notepad at the side of her desktop computer. “Nothing.”

      Brayden frowned. Richie Lyman was bad news. The worst kind of thug for hire, the guy had a violent streak and enjoyed using it in his work. A known associate of the Larson brothers, the last time Richie had vanished was after a bar fight in the Pour House had landed his opponent in the hospital. When the other guy refused to give evidence against Richie, there were rumors he had been paid off by the Larsons. Richie was valuable to his bosses. The Larsons would rather send him out of town until the heat died down than have him end up in a prison cell. Finding another paid attack dog of Richie’s caliber wouldn’t be easy.

      If the Larsons were planning something big, Richie would be in on it. When Brayden had called at the run-down apartment in the poorest part of town to question him, there had been no sign of Richie. Perhaps it wouldn’t have raised alarm bells except for the fact that Richie’s on-and-off partner, Lulu Love, was due to have a baby within the month.

      “When you find him, tell him to get his sorry ass back here in time to see his kid being born.” When Brayden had busted Lulu for receiving stolen goods a few months earlier, she had listed her occupation as “exotic dancer.” There had been nothing exotic about her expression as she slammed the door in his face.

      That had been almost four weeks ago. Brayden had put an alert out within the PD. Richie wasn’t wanted for a crime, but Brayden wanted to be informed of any sightings of him. Lorelei’s answer had been the same every day.

      Brayden couldn’t find any reason for Richie’s current disappearance. Not that anyone within the Larsons’ inner circle was likely to confide in a police officer, of course. He found it strange that Noel and Evan would be without one of their most trusted operatives at a time when they seemed to be stepping up their activities.

      A glance at the clock told Brayden it was close to noon. He tried not to involve his father, Rusty, in his job. There were too many personal conflicts arising from being a cop whose father ran the bar where the town’s lowlife criminals congregated. Now and then, a quiet word over the bar was the best way to find out what was going on. This seemed like one of those times.

      “If anyone is looking for me, I’m heading out to the Pour House.”

      Talking to Rusty about the Larson brothers and their hired thugs was not the way Brayden would have chosen to spend the next few hours, but at least it gave him a focus. And he could guarantee it would be a challenge. Something to keep his mind from straying toward the Red Ridge Bed-and-Breakfast. Because ever since he had met her at the dog show, Esmée had invaded his thoughts. He didn’t want her there, had done everything he could to force himself to concentrate on other

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