Ghosts of the Heart

By Laurie Button

Tarin MacGyver is an editor with a Denver newspaper who works remotely from her home alongside Ledge Lake in the mountains of northern Colorado. Jonathan Parker is the disenchanted lead singer of a popular rock band from California—a group that is about to implode. Their worlds could not be more different. But when they collide by chance and Jon rescues Tarin during a bungled burglary, their lives become intertwined. Unfortunately, their blossoming relationship is jeopardized by Jon’s diabolical business manager, and the menacing stalker who continues to loom in the background haunting Tarin’s once tranquil lakeside existence. In their quest to build a future together, Jon and Tarin find themselves facing deception, betrayal, murder, and kidnapping, not to mention a mountain blizzard that threatens both their lives. Ghosts of the Heart weaves together a tale of love and discovery with an element of deception and danger acting as a constant backdrop.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Sep 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798369407080

Laurie Button

A graduate of Gustavus Adolphus College in St. Peter, Minnesota, Laurie Button is an award-winning journalist raised in both Eastern Iowa and the beautiful Iowa Great Lakes Region. She has received recognition for her writing, photography, and design skills on the local, state, and national levels. In 1995, she was awarded the Colorado Press Association’s “Shining Star Award” as the best all-around journalist in the Estes Park Trail-Gazette’s (Colorado) circulation class. Laurie is known for her ability to weave compelling true-to-life stories by drawing readers into three-dimensional settings and engaging characters through dynamic, heartfelt dialogue. Today, Laurie is retired and lives with her husband, Joel, in Estes Park with three feisty cats, two spoiled miniature horses, a decade-old clown fish, and their beloved Leonberger puppy Boji. They have called Buttonbelly Farm home for more than thirty years. Joel and Laurie have two grown sons and four wonderful grandchildren.

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Copyright © 2023 by Laurie Button.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 09/13/2023

Xlibris

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Contents

Part One

Chapter 1 The Encounter

Chapter 2 The Aftermath

Chapter 3 The Investigation

Chapter 4 Anticipation

Chapter 5 Shuck’s

Chapter 6 A Fish Story

Chapter 7 Secrets

Chapter 8 Peace And Quiet

Chapter 9 Mountain Paparazzi

Chapter 10 The Intruder

Chapter 11 A Night At The Sip ’N Strike

Chapter 12 Don’t Go

Chapter 13 Departure

Chapter 14 End Of The Beginning

Chapter 15 Broken Promises

Chapter 16 A False Sense Of Security

Chapter 17 Becoming Cinderella

Chapter 18 No Forgiveness

Chapter 19 A New Beginning

Chapter 20 The Warehouse

Chapter 21 Getting To Know The Landscape

Chapter 22 Ready To Record

Chapter 23 The Stage Is Set

Chapter 24 Truth Be Told

Chapter 25 Deception

Chapter 26 The Confrontation

Chapter 27 Wind In The Sails

Chapter 28 Fishing For Information

Chapter 29 What Happens In Vegas

Chapter 30 Misstep

Chapter 31 He’s Back

Chapter 32 Home Again

Chapter 33 No Turning Back

Part Two

Chapter 34 The New Man In Town

Chapter 35 Beginning Of The End

Chapter 36 The Plan

Chapter 37 Celebrating The Season

Chapter 38 The City Of Lights

Chapter 39 Almost Finished

Chapter 40 A Christmas Surprise

Chapter 41 The Hunt

Chapter 42 Seeing Is Believing

Part Three

Chapter 43 Today’s The Day

Chapter 44 The Hit

Chapter 45 Scene Of The Crime

Chapter 46 Into The Storm

Chapter 47 The Escape

Chapter 48 Life And Death

Chapter 49 Revelations

Chapter 50 Justice

Chapter 51 Making Amends

Chapter 52 The Proposal

Chapter 53 The Search For Answers

Chapter 54 A Haunting Possibility

Chapter 55 The Manhunt Begins

Chapter 56 A Guarded Situation

Chapter 57 Hope For The Future

Without the support and encouragement of these dear

friends, this novel would have never seen the light of day.

They include my staunchest supporter Marylou, as well as Judy,

Linda, Carol, Celine, Nicole, Ann, Claudia, Paula, Sally, Peni,

Lauren, Kerrie, and my mentor Philip.

Thank you to my musician husband, Joel, who stuck with me while

I sat in front of the computer for days, months, and years writing

and rewriting this book with no apparent end in sight.

I also need to acknowledge our Leonberger puppy, Boji Belle,

who provided love and support by snuggling at my feet

while I worked late at night and in the early hours before dawn.

As for our two cats who exercised their unsolicited editing skills

by walking on the keyboard when I wasn’t looking—the jury is still out.

Finally, thank you to each of the characters who will always be

part of my life and wouldn’t let me quit until their

story was finally told.

Paul J. Marcotte Photography.

Cover artwork by watercolorist Janet Graham

Author’s photo by wildlife, landscape, and portrait

photographer Paul J. Marcotte

www.pauljmarcottephotography.com

Part

One

CHAPTER 1

The Encounter

T arin glanced at the figure once more before turning from the window in frustration. Whoever he was, the man had certainly complicated the evening. It was her routine to check the boats every night at dusk, but today she’d delayed the task. Now a trip to the dock would entail an encounter with the uninvited guest.

Not that it’s unusual to see someone pause on a calm, clear night at what locals commonly refer to as The Point. Twinkling stars blanketed the sky and a light breeze rustled aspen leaves in the darkness. Moonlight silhouetted the mountains, sending a swath of diamonds across the rippling water of Ledge Lake. No, it wasn’t uncommon to see someone pause to admire the view. This person, however, had been seated on the white Adirondack-style bench for what seemed like an eternity.

He has to leave eventually, she muttered as if speaking the words might somehow cause the man to follow her instructions. Tarin looked out the window again, shook her head, and scolded herself. During the five years she had lived alone at the lake, she’d come to terms with the apprehension that sometimes accompanies a solitary lifestyle. At this point, she decided, she could handle a short walk to the dock, even when faced with a trespassing stranger.

Tarin suppressed her unease, slipped on a light fleece jacket, reached for a flashlight, and opened the French doors leading to the deck. Come on, Finn, she called to the black and white border collie napping by the fireplace. We’ve got work to do.

She stepped outside and took a deep breath as the canine bounded past her toward the lake. The crisp October air and eerie calls of elk bugling nearby dispelled any thoughts of insecurity. Those familiar sounds, teamed with waves breaking on the rocky shore below, always had that effect upon her.

Tarin’s grandfather had brought her to Ledge Lake in a wicker basket when she was just three weeks old. Over time she’d managed to memorize every inch of the lake and knew all the bays, inlets, and beaches by heart. Now, no matter what challenges life presented, she could count on this place to provide serenity and peace of mind.

She stopped a few yards from the stairway leading to the lake and looked toward the lights flickering on the opposite shore. For some inexplicable reason, Tarin felt the need to share her reverence for this special place. She turned toward the bench, directing her words to the silent form seated there. It’s said Ute tribal leaders came to this spot seeking guidance from the spirit world.

For a moment, her words resonated in silence.

I can understand why, he replied quietly.

Finn introduced himself by planting his front paws on the visitor’s lap with his tail wagging and using his nose to investigate this potential playmate. Despite her best efforts, Tarin couldn’t call off the overzealous canine.

I’m sorry. Believe it or not, Finn did go to obedience school.

The stranger massaged the dog’s ears. No worries. He’s just being a dog and luckily, I’m a dog person.

With help from an ornamental light at the top of the stairs, her eyes had adjusted somewhat to the darkness. Tarin approached the bench and saw a man in his early thirties—close to her own age, she guessed.

When I was growing up, my grandmother would bring me here when she wanted to talk. Grammy called it the truth bench.

Did you always tell her what she wanted to hear?

She smiled, appreciating his insight. Usually.

Have you lived here long?

My grandparents bought the property before I was born. I’ve been at the lake off and on my entire life. Now it’s the only place I call home.

Suddenly the man looked troubled, the corners of his mouth turning into an unconscious frown. It was as if he’d remembered something best left forgotten. He started to stand. I’m sorry. I should be going, and you have things to do.

Stay if you’d like. This night is much too beautiful to go unappreciated.

Continuing her journey toward the dock, she added, It only takes a few minutes to check the boats and we’ll be out of your way. Don’t feel like you need to leave on our account. If you want a place to sit and think, consider yourself invited.

Tarin descended the stairs with Finn scurrying ahead. Reaching the shoreline, she glanced at her beloved boathouse. Perhaps the term boathouse was inappropriate for the small guesthouse built into the rocky bank near the water’s edge. In the beginning it was simply a place to store fishing gear and water skis, but as the years passed, she turned it into a small but comfortable getaway. Many nights had been spent in this cozy two-room world close to the water’s edge.

Years before, her grandfather had taught Tarin how without warning the early evening calm could turn into an unexpected storm, but tonight there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. A brief check confirmed both boats were secure in their lifts alongside the dock. Then, out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the boathouse door was ajar. Finn seemed to read her mind and stopped to sniff at the threshold.

Strange, she thought, moving toward the doorway. I know I locked it this morning.

As her fingers touched the handle, the heavy wood door burst open and a dark shape exploded from within, knocking her backward. Tarin lost her balance, and with arms flailing, splashed into the icy water.

She sputtered to the surface in time to see Finn sink his teeth into the man’s calf, twisting his jaw from side to side and refusing to let go. Groaning in pain, the intruder reacted by striking the dog’s muzzle before kicking him into the lake.

Her nostrils burned from the water she’d inhaled, and her heart pounded as she watched the man stumble toward the landing and up the steps. Finn wasn’t far behind, muscling his way to shore and onto the dock. The canine slipped and slid across the wet planks but regained his footing before disappearing into the darkness. A few seconds later, Tarin heard the unmistakable sound of a struggle on the stairway. And then—nothing. Not a sound.

Tarin waited, shivering in the frigid water. Had it been a few seconds or a few moments?

Suddenly, the sharp punctuation of footsteps on the dock pierced the night air.

Was he coming back?

She tried to remain invisible, stroking through the four-foot-deep water while fighting to keep her balance on the uneven rocks beneath her feet. Tarin’s teeth were chattering, and she gripped a moss-covered post in the shadows, bracing for what she feared might happen next.

The footsteps stopped on the weathered planks above her head, and she realized the man from the bench was kneeling on the dock. Are you okay? What the hell just happened?

Finn stood nearby—his fur matted, muddy, and dripping with water.

I’m cold, wet, and terrified, she admitted, her voice cracking. There was someone in the boathouse. What could he have wanted? There’s nothing inside worth stealing. Trembling, Tarin struggled to make her way to shore. The stranger reached down, grasping her hand as she inched along the dock.

I heard you scream and was coming to see what had happened. About halfway to the lake, some jerk tried to knock me off the stairs.

She stood on the rocky shore—soaked and shuddering in the moonlight.

You’re shaking. Let’s sit down so you can catch your breath. Resting his hand on the small of her back, he guided Tarin to the landing at the base of the stairs. Here, put this on, he said, wrapping his leather jacket around her shoulders.

She watched the man’s concerned look turn into an embarrassed grin. He apologized when Tarin met his gaze. I’m sorry. I know it’s wrong to be smiling, but—

Still shivering, she realized a stringy weed had adhered itself haphazardly across her forehead. Several strands of slimy green moss were tangled in her shoulder-length blonde hair. From head-to-toe, she was dripping wet, clothes clinging to her slender five-foot five-inch frame like a second skin. Wearing but one shoe—the other lost in the fall—Tarin mustered a small smile in return.

How can I ever thank you? she asked, still struggling to regain her composure.

I just wish I’d been able to keep him from getting away, although I don’t know what I would have done with him if I had. He untangled a strand of weed from her hair. Do you have any idea who it might have been?

No. It happened so fast, and he was wearing a mask. The intense terror Tarin had felt while hiding under the dock returned. I never lock the house when I come down to the dock. What if he’s gone inside?

Don’t worry—I promise to check before I let you go in.

She noticed a narrow trail of blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. What’s this? she asked, lifting her fingers toward his face.

He brushed the back of his hand across his chin. It’s safe to say that guy has one hell of a right hook.

At that moment, Finn wormed his way between the two, using his nose to nuzzle the man’s abdomen.

And what’s this? Tarin saw a tear in the man’s shirt was tainted with blood.

Don’t worry. It’s not serious. The guy pulled a knife on the landing.

A knife? She reached toward the torn fabric. When were you going to mention that? So much for my litany about lakeshore tranquility. We need to look at the cut, but I’m afraid my flashlight is under four feet of water.

I’ll be fine. It’s only a scratch, he assured her. The important thing is to get you warm and into dry clothes.

Recognizing the urgent look in his eyes, she felt a sudden wave of gratitude. That man could have killed you and you don’t even know my name. I’m Tarin MacGyver. You’ve already met Finn.

She paused, expecting the man to offer his own introduction.

It took a moment before he broke the awkward silence. Jonathan Parker. Just Jon to most people.

Well, Jon—we need to be sure you don’t need stitches and give that lip the attention it deserves. She stood and started toward the boathouse. You know what? I bet we’ve got a flashlight in there.

He reached to restrain her. I don’t think you should touch anything until the police look around.

You’re right, she admitted. But I have no idea what to do next. Nothing like this has ever happened to me before.

That’s easy. We need to contact the authorities and get you warm and dry.

Tarin shook her head in amazement. I don’t understand how you can be so calm and collected.

He shrugged. Trust me—inside I’m probably more traumatized than you are. Later, when I stop pretending to be brave, reality will set in.

Gazing into his eyes, Tarin realized she wanted to know more about Jonathan Parker. But as easily as he’d let his guard down a few seconds before, she watched him become preoccupied once again before following her up the stairs.

CHAPTER 2

The Aftermath

J on noticed Tarin’s house for the first time as they approached its expansive porch facing the lake. The two-story log home was nestled in a thick stand of towering ponderosa and lodgepole pines. Large windows framed the living room’s floor-to-ceiling moss rock fireplace and the flickering flames dancing within it. The upper-level exterior was almost entirely glass, with logs defining the deck that spanned the second story. An identical railing outlined the porch below, with wide wood steps leading to a pair of French doors.

He restrained Tarin. Let me go in first.

Please be careful.

It seemed like an eternity before Jon stepped back onto the porch.

The house is empty, but be careful when you go inside, he cautioned.

Why? What’s wrong? Tarin asked with anxiety embedded in her voice.

He shook his head. There are footprints in the kitchen and laundry room, but I don’t think he went any farther, and nothing seems to be disturbed. Even so, the police will want to take pictures.

I understand, she replied in an almost inaudible voice.

Watching where she stepped, Tarin hung Jon’s jacket on a wrought iron hook next to the doorway and rubbed her hands together in a futile attempt to warm them. She moistened a clean hand towel at the sink and instructed him to sit before dabbing at the wound through the tear in his shirt.

He covered her hands with his. Your fingers feel like ice. Please take a hot shower and change into dry clothes.

Only if you promise not to go anywhere. I’ll be back with antiseptics to clean that cut. Tarin handed him the towel and started up the open stairway to the loft. When I come back down, I’ll need something much stronger to calm my nerves, but if you’d like, there’s beer in the refrigerator. There’s also hard liquor in the antique icebox in the dining room. Make yourself at home.

Thanks, Jon called, watching her disappear up the stairs. He put down the towel and opened the stainless-steel door. A quick scan revealed several beers tucked away on the top shelf. Judging from the refrigerator’s scant contents, Jon surmised Tarin lived alone.

He grabbed one of the bottled microbrews and turned toward the living room with its vaulted wood ceilings. Drawn to the warmth of the stone fireplace on the opposite wall, he found hundreds of books and photographs lining the built-in shelves on either side of the moss rock. Most of the pictures seemed to be old family photos, while others reflected more recent memorable moments.

A small but familiar device on the coffee table caught his eye, and he cast a quick look toward the stairs before picking up the digital music player. Turning it on with the flick of a finger, he scanned the list of artists cataloged in its playlist.

Toby Keith, Zac Brown Band, Blackberry Smoke, Steve Perry, Journey—so she’s mostly into country with a little bit of rock thrown in. Jon was disappointed the band he was looking for was missing from her favorites.

Putting the player back where he’d found it, he surveyed the room and discovered a small piano tucked away in a nook created by the log stairway leading upstairs. He picked at a few keys, unaware that Tarin was standing behind him.

Do you play? she asked, tousling her damp hair with a towel.

Startled, Jon turned to face her. A little. It’s a nice piano, but you might want to see about getting it tuned.

I’ve been meaning to do that, but it’s hard to find someone willing to drive here from Denver. She stepped closer. Now—are you going to let me take a look at your lip?

Before he could object, Tarin touched her towel to the corner of his mouth. I think you’ll live. But let’s go into the kitchen to check that cut.

Jon followed her to the island where she’d assembled an assortment of over-the-counter medical supplies. There was no room for disobedience when he spoke. Tarin, you need to call the police.

I know, but let me take care of this first, she answered, motioning for him to remove his torn shirt.

He pulled the oatmeal-colored Henley over his head, and she caught herself admiring his tan and trim upper body. Feeling awkward, Tarin looked away, opened a packet of antiseptic, and turned her attention to the jagged wound angling several inches across his abdomen. This may sting.

Jon cringed when she began swabbing his stomach. You’re lucky—the knife just barely broke the skin. She winced, feeling his muscles tighten under her touch. I’m sorry, but we need to clean it. Who knows where that knife’s been.

Tarin cleansed the area several times before applying medicated salve, placing a nonstick bandage over the wound, and then securing it with cotton gauze. She handed him a shirt she’d brought from upstairs. This was my grandfather’s. You won’t be making any fashion statements, but I guarantee it’s clean.

He began to button the worn denim shirt. Now, will you please call the police? That guy’s still out there, and we already know he’s not afraid to come into your house.

Okay—okay, she replied before picking up a cordless phone tucked away in a corner of the kitchen. I know you’re right.

Chasm Falls’ lone dispatcher answered on the first ring. Marylou? It’s Tarin MacGyver. I’ve been doing well, thank you. But tonight, I need your help. I’d like to report a break-in. Could you send an officer?

Tarin opened the front door and greeted the first of two uniformed policemen. Come on in, Mike. I guess you’re the lucky one on duty tonight.

Hi, you. He gestured toward the officer standing behind him. I’m not sure if you know Deputy Scott Simmons. He came from the West Slope last spring to join the Granite County Sheriff’s Department. Tonight, he happened to stop at the station when he went on duty and asked if he could ride along.

The deputy tipped his hat. Evening, ma’am. I may have seen you around town, but we’ve never been introduced.

She reached for his outstretched hand. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Tarin MacGyver.

Mike Wilson’s trained eyes methodically scanned the living room while continuing the conversation. He noted Jon’s presence and nodded. Good evening, sir.

Tarin glanced at Jon and then back at the officer. Mike, this is Jon Parker. He was here during the break-in. She paused. Would you like to go into the kitchen? It might be more comfortable.

Sounds good, Mike replied as he crossed the living room. Care to tell me what happened tonight, Tarin? Marylou said something about a man breaking into your boathouse. One of only a handful of police officers in Chasm Falls, Mike had been friends with Tarin since childhood.

There are footprints in the kitchen and another room you’ll want to look at, Jon interjected. The guy must have gotten into Tarin’s house while we were still on the dock.

Can I get either of you anything? A cup of coffee, water, or a soda? Tarin asked.

Mike looked at Simmons, who shook his head. No, we’re fine, he answered, pulling a clean incident report from the thin aluminum box in his hand. He walked toward the doorway, looking down at the ceramic tile. These must be the footprints you mentioned.

The officer turned to the deputy. Scott, can you get the camera out of my car and a measuring tape? Kneeling, Mike scrutinized the imprints. It looks like the man was wearing work boots and not athletic shoes. Unfortunately, most of the men in town wear boots just like this. But we can determine the shoe size and look for any noticeable marks on the soles. Like here, for instance. He pointed to a chip missing in the tread of the right boot. If we find a suspect who owns a pair of boots with this imperfection, the shoes could become evidence.

Mike finished documenting the prints and sat down at the granite-topped island. Your assessment that the man stopped in the kitchen area seems to be correct, Mr. Parker. Let’s start from the beginning, Tarin.

Standing at one end of the countertop with Jon sitting on a stool at the other, Tarin began to recount the evening’s events. You know my routine, Mike.

Deputy Simmons took careful notes while Tarin described in detail her encounter with the intruder. Then the officers turned to Jon for his version of what had happened.

Mike spoke first. Let’s jump back a bit, Mr. Parker. Tell me where you were when all this was going on. Mike watched for any unexpected expressions on Jon’s face.

I was sitting on the bench near the steps that lead down to the lake.

Had you been there long?

A couple hours, I guess. I wasn’t paying attention to time.

I’m sorry, Simmons interrupted, but we need to ask. Was it a coincidence you were at the top of the stairs while a break-in was taking place on the dock? Someone might wonder if you were involved in some way—maybe as a lookout.

Tarin reacted without hesitation to the apparent accusation. You can’t be serious. He risked his life to help me, and has a knife wound to show for it.

Retrieving Jon’s shirt from the laundry room, she pointed to the bloody tear. It could have been much worse.

Simmons took the shirt from Tarin. Like I said, I’m sorry. I wasn’t inferring anything, it’s just something we need to ask. We’ll tag the shirt as evidence and then document your wound.

After removing the wrap Tarin had applied, the deputy snapped a digital photo of Jon’s stomach. You might want to have that cut examined at the hospital and get a tetanus shot. I don’t think you’ll need stitches, but I’m no doctor.

Jon rewrapped the gauze securing the bandage and buttoned the borrowed shirt while Mike worked on his report.

Did you see anyone other than Ms. MacGyver go down the steps? Simmons asked, leaning back on his stool.

No.

Mike continued to eye Jon. Do you mind telling us what you were doing there in the first place? He didn’t wait for a reply before asking, Are you from around here? Can’t quite put my finger on it, but it seems like I’ve seen you somewhere before.

No, I’m from the West Coast. I was in Denver on business last week and things didn’t go as planned. I’ve been trying to get away from everything for a few days—you know—clear my head. Jon became defensive. If you’d like to check, I’m staying at the Crescent Lodge. It was a nice night, so I decided to take a walk and wound up here.

Have you known Ms. MacGyver long? Mike asked, still taking notes.

We’d never met before tonight.

Okay, he replied, making direct eye contact with Jon, and then looking back at his paperwork. Tell us what you remember.

Well—I heard Tarin scream, there was a commotion, and then a splash. There were actually two splashes. The second one must have been Finn landing in the water. Thinking someone might be in trouble, I started down to see if I could help. About halfway to the dock, a man coming up the steps nearly knocked me over. Jon stopped for an instant. I tried to grab him, but he kept pushing me out of the way. Finally, we fell backward onto a landing. He started throwing punches and that’s when he pulled the knife.

Did you notice anything noteworthy about him? Was he tall, short, stocky? Could you tell if he was right or left-handed? Mike asked.

The hardest punches came from the right, so I’m assuming he was right-handed. Now that I think about it, he held the blade in that hand, too. As far as size goes, I’d say he was about my height with an athletic build.

Did you see his face?

Jon shook his head. No. He was wearing a mask, and anyway, it was almost pitch black.

Let’s get back to the knife, Simmons suggested, placing a penpoint on the tip of his tongue. Did you get a good look at it?

The blade had a jagged edge, Jon answered. He held his hands out to illustrate the knife’s length. I’ve never hunted, but it’s what I imagine a hunting knife looks like.

Just for the police report, Mr. Parker, what’s your full name? Mike asked.

Jonathan Andrew Parker.

Your address?

6100 Camino De La Costa, La Jolla, California.

The officer stopped writing and looked up as though he’d seen a ghost. "Oh, my god. Now I know why you look so familiar. You’re the Jonathan Parker, aren’t you? I knew I’d seen you somewhere but couldn’t put my finger on it. My wife has pictures of you all over our house."

Mike noticed the bewildered look on Tarin’s face and pointed an index finger in her direction. Now, don’t you get any ideas, my dear. The pictures are on CD covers. He turned his attention back to Jon. Your band played a concert in Denver last weekend. My wife, Maggie, didn’t speak to me for a couple days because I didn’t take her. Wait until she discovers you’ve been in Chasm Falls and we didn’t even know it.

Tarin couldn’t disguise her confusion. Am I missing something? She turned toward Jon. Should I know who you are?

He made no attempt to hide his smile. Actually, it’s quite refreshing that you don’t.

Shit. I’ve been interviewing Jonathan Parker. My wife won’t believe this, Mike exclaimed, still shaking his head. Then he sat back, cleared his throat, and worked to regain some degree of professional demeanor. I’m sorry, sir. I hope we have a chance to talk when I’m off duty, but right now we need to get back to police business. Still somewhat star-struck, he directed a stern look toward his childhood friend. This is a serious situation, Tarin. We don’t know what the intruder was after, and we need to find him before he decides to break in again.

Do you think he might try, Mike?

The officer shrugged. It’s possible if he didn’t get what he was looking for.

You keep your doors locked, don’t you? Simmons asked.

Tarin knew she was about to be chastised. I will now.

Mike closed his eyes and scowled. We’ll talk about security issues tomorrow, Ms. MacGyver. In the meantime, Scott and I will do what we can in the dark. We’ll be back in the morning to finish up.

You didn’t touch anything in the boathouse, did you? Simmons asked.

Tarin looked across the room at Jon. No. I was about to, but he stopped me.

Good call, Mike commented as he picked up the incident report. We’ll get what we need out of the car and go down to the dock. He turned to Jon. We’d appreciate it if you’d stick around, Mr. Parker.

She replied for them both. We’ll be right here, Mike. Let us know if there’s anything you need.

Simmons held out his hand to Tarin. It was nice meeting you, ma’am. I wish it had been under different circumstances, but I promise we’ll do everything we can to get to find the person responsible for this. You can count on that.

CHAPTER 3

The Investigation

T he officers peered toward the landing in the darkness, which was, as Jon had described, about halfway down to the lake. Any illumination from the decorative light at the top of the stairs was lost before reaching the small wood platform.

I’ll do my best with the photos, Simmons said while adjusting the digital camera’s settings.

Beaming his flashlight around the area, Mike could see nothing out of the ordinary.

The pair worked their way to where the fight had occurred, scrutinizing the planks at their feet and then the redwood railing outlining three sides of the landing.

So, you’ve heard of this guy?

Jonathan Parker? Mike stopped long enough to wipe the back of his hand across his forehead. Sure. He’s the real deal. I’ve never seen his band Motive play, but my wife Maggie drives me crazy with all their CDs.

Don’t you think it was strange he was sitting on the bench? Especially since he doesn’t even know your friend?

Mike shrugged. Maybe. But he’s not the only one that stops to enjoy that view. And you need to remember, he was a victim, too. The officer seemed to notice something. Hey, Scott— I’ve got blood over here. Can I have a swab or two? He knelt on the platform. Do you see anything else?

Nothing yet.

A few weeks ago, Parker was on one of those entertainment shows Maggie watches. He’s been hanging out with some hot new Hollywood actress. Mike sat up, trying to remember the woman’s name. She’s been all over the talk show circuit. I bet you’d know her if you saw her. Just then, something caught his eye. Well, what do we have here? he asked, pointing his flashlight at a fresh splinter in the railing.

It might be fabric snagged in the wood. Simmons examined it in the dim light.

Shoot it, and then let’s take a closer look.

Mike used tweezers to extract a small piece of fleece. Since Mr. Parker was wearing a light-colored cotton shirt and leather jacket, it looks like our perp must have been wearing a black sweatshirt. Now he owns one with a hole in it. He continued down the steps. Let’s check out the boathouse.

Mike put out his arm to stop the deputy when they reached the bottom of the stairs. He painted the first few feet of the dock with his flashlight. So much for any hope we had when it comes to finding more footprints. Tarin said her dog, Finn, chased the guy up the stairs. It looks like any evidence we might have found was obliterated when Finn got out of the water. Now, all we have is a smeared mess.

What kind of dog? Simmons asked. I didn’t see one when we were in the house.

Finn? He’s a border collie. While you were getting the camera from the car, Tarin told me she’d put him outside in his kennel.

Mike used a gloved hand to push open the