In the Barren Ground by Loreth Anne White

Author:Loreth Anne White [White, Loreth Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781503936232
Publisher: Montlake Romance
Published: 2016-08-16T04:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 26

Wednesday, November 7. Day length: 7:37:40 hours.

Tana woke with a start. Hot. Wind was wailing, snow thickening against the window. The plastic taped over the broken pane made a tic tic tic sound. Disoriented, she sat up. She was on the floor . . . her dogs?

“Max? Toyon?” she whispered, shaking them. Both her pooches opened their eyes. Max lifted his head, and Toyon thumped the tip of his tail. Tears of relief burned into her eyes as she stroked them. Their muscle tremors had quieted, no more drool. She lifted their lips. Their gums looked brighter. Oh, God, they were going to be okay. “You are,” she whispered to them. “You will be fine. You’ll see—you’ll feel even stronger tomorrow.”

Crash?

She looked around. The room glowed a soft orange from the fire. A light came from the interview room. The door to the room was open. Quickly, she pushed herself to her feet. Stiff and still hurting from the fight at the Red Moose, she made her way to the door on socked feet, entered.

She stilled.

He stood in front of her whiteboard, up close, examining the lines she’d made linking photos, what she’d written, his own name up there. He’d removed his flannel shirt and wore a white tee, jeans. A big-ass hunting knife was sheathed at his hip. The form-fitting fabric of his shirt accentuated his musculature, his simmering, latent strength. The small room underscored his height. But her focus was drawn to the tattoos down his arms. On his left bicep dark ink depicted a big fist holding a trident that speared three small skulls. On his right arm a pair of handcuffs was tattooed.

Her heart started to race.

Prison tats. Gang ink.

He tensed. Sensing her, he turned slowly.

His face looked different. Something in his eyes had darkened, and the look in them made her fight taking a step backward.

The RCMP had run a course for all the cops back in Yellowknife when the Devil’s Angels started to infiltrate the diamond industry there. Diamonds were the cleanest currency for organized crime, terrorism. The emblem of the Devil’s Angels was the speared trident. A fist grasping a trident with skulls upon the tips had to be earned. It was like a patch. It meant access had been granted to the highest levels of a chapter, and to gain entry, a DA member had to kill someone, or hurt them very seriously. Handcuffs often signified time served.

Fear fingered into her chest.

“Get out,” she said.

“What is this?” he said.

“You shouldn’t be in here.”

He eyed her, unsmiling. Her gaze flickered to his name on the board, what she’d written under it.

Owns red AeroStar. Heather MacAllistair saw a red AeroStar near scene around possible time of deaths. Sturmann-Taylor alibi? O’Halloran was in the woods near Regan Novak mauling site—first on scene. In a position to compromise evidence. Where was he when Smithers was killed? She could now add, member of organized crime chapter? Killer? Ex-con?

“You’re conducting a homicide investigation.” He went to the table where the other glossy photos were scattered, the autopsy reports.

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