The Trophy Hunter (3 page)

Inside, as she assessed the present value of
her own security, the silence of the house weighed down upon her.
Career, marriage, and then starting a family after determining both
were stable. She’d made all the sensible, adult decisions, and what
had they gotten her? As she brushed something from her eye, Diana
hoped Jess’s meeting wouldn’t last too long.

A small pile of mail awaited Diana on the
dining room table. She thumbed through it, noting there was nothing
addressed to Greg among the pieces. Did that mean he’d already put
in a change of address? It didn’t seem like it would have taken
effect so quickly. Or, more disturbing, had he been back in the
house?

Diana remembered the disabled security
system─victim of Greg’s frustration. A total klutz when it came to
anything mechanical, Greg had accidentally set it off so many times
that he’d finally jerked it out of the wall. In due time she’d get
it fixed. For now, she’d just change the locks.

In the kitchen, Diana looked for locksmiths
in the Yellow Pages. A thin wail drifted toward her from somewhere
upstairs. Instinct kicked in, driving her up the stairs faster than
she should have gone, brought her to the door of the nursery. She
was in the room before she realized the irrationality of her haste.
Tigger rubbed his face along one leg of the green and white crib as
he wailed another greeting at her. Multicolored butterflies danced
from the ceiling for the baby who would never see them.

Beside the crib, a rocking chair waited, its
back draped with a crocheted afghan covered with zoo animal
appliqués. As dizziness overtook her, Diana carefully lowered
herself into the rocking chair. Wrapping the afghan around herself,
she closed her eyes and rocked.

* * * * *

“I’m back.” Jess’s voice crashed through
Diana’s consciousness. Her eyes felt pinched where tears had dried.
For a moment she was disoriented in the dark room. Her hands felt
the afghan and she remembered. It had been daylight when she’d
dozed off.

“Diana?”

Light streamed up the stairs from the first
floor. She could hear Jess’s footsteps on the tile stairway,
accelerating as panic seeped into her voice. “Diana, are you
okay?”

“I’m in here.” Diana got up slowly, the pain
a reminder of what sleep had blotted out. She stumbled to the
doorway.

As she eased out into the hallway, Jess
grabbed her arm. “To your room and no backtalk,” she ordered.

“No,” replied Diana as she reached back and
closed the nursery door as if that act could shut out the emotional
chaos. For a moment it did. “I think I could actually eat
something. Is there any of that Chinese left?’

“Left?” Jess frowned at her. “Girl, unless
you’ve been pigging out while I was gone or had company, it’s all
still there. Cold, but microwaveable.”

In the kitchen, they filled plates from soggy
cartons and took turns zapping them.

“So, tell me about your client,” invited
Diana.

Jess swallowed a bite of egg roll before
replying. “Just delivering some pictures I took on a surveillance.
Some jerk who wants to trade his old wife in on a new…oops.”

“You don’t have to coddle me. Anyway, I meant
the guy you’re referring. The old fart?”

“Oh, right. But I don’t want to influence
you. Meet him and draw your own conclusions.”

Diana suppressed a giggle, wincing at the
effort. “Like
old fart
doesn’t create an image. What else
should I know about him?”

“He’s an
all
man.” Jess had a twinkle
in her eye.

“Okay. I’ll bite. All what? All man?”

“
All
, as in O-I-L. Oklahoma
crude.”

Chapter 3

Diana wore a deep red business suit on her
first day back in the office. A Wednesday─not the Monday she’d
planned. She was strong, but not
that
strong. Jess had
indeed persuaded her to cut herself some slack. Even so, it had
been only eight days since her surgery, and she’d not yet been back
to Dr. Hovac for her follow-up exam.

Red, her favorite color, inspired confidence.
Conveyed confidence. At least that was what she told herself. Still
on pain medication, she’d taken a cab to work. When Dr. Hovac had
released her from the hospital, he’d instructed her to come back in
ten days for an evaluation relative to being cleared to drive her
car. She knew he had never imagined that she’d go back to work this
soon. She smiled at the thought that she would fool everyone, Greg
included, and sail through these rough waters without a backward
glance.

Aghh.
But the pain kept grabbing her
when she moved. She had to cut the painkiller dosage in half in
order to have half a functioning brain. Thank goodness she’d hired
Tamara before this thing happened.

This thing.
She didn’t want to name
what had happened that in her eyes turned her into a neuter,
anymore than she wanted to name the baby who had never taken a
breath. If she let herself go
there,
she’d shatter
completely. Right now, she was maimed but functional. She’d settle
for that.

Diana looked around and for the first time
noticed a small array of flowers and plants. She’d instructed
Tamara to give minimal information to clients whose appointments
had to be changed and no information to her parents, who were out
of state. She’d have to deal with their questions eventually. The
buzzer on her desk phone sounded. Diana picked it up and heard
Tamara’s crisp voice announce, “Mr. Flannigan is here.”

Jess’s referral. “Please show him in,
Tamara.”

He moved through the doorway slowly, like a
bear coming out of hibernation. A large man whose jeans and plaid
flannel shirt hung loosely on him. He looked tired. Dark circles
underscored his faded blue eyes. His thatch of straw-colored hair
laced with gray looked in need of a barber. Diana gauged his age to
be early sixties and imagined that his still-considerable bulk must
have decreased since buying the clothes he wore.

She stood and reached across the desk to
shake his hand, and then felt the vise of his huge paw nearly crush
her fingers. “Please have a seat, Mr. Flannigan,” she said as she
sank carefully back into the soft leather of her chair.

He nodded without smiling as his eyes took in
the room with its expensive amenities. Diana could see him pause as
he scanned the walls that were covered with original wildlife
paintings. A Remington bronze topped the credenza behind her desk.
She watched the man’s hooded eyes hover there for several seconds
before he took a seat in the client chair opposite her.

“Jess tells me you have a custody problem
concerning your grandchildren,” Diana began, to break the awkward
silence, glad he hadn’t mentioned the array of flowers.

He seemed to snap back from wherever he’d
gone. “Uh-huh. The wife and I have the kids now, but we’d like to
make it legal,” he said in a gravelly drawl. “And permanent,” he
added with emphasis on
permanent
.

Diana made some notes on the legal pad before
her and asked, “Where are the parents?”

Flannigan passed a beefy hand across his
face, as if he could erase the strong emotions that bled through.
“Their mother … my daughter Brandi … she’s been missin’ since the
middle of October. We think she’s dead.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Flannigan─”

“Joe,” he interrupted. “Joe’ll do just fine.
You’re Diana. Right?” His eyes crinkled at the corners, giving the
hint of a smile, as if being on a first name basis would elicit
more help from her. But his mouth under a sandy mustache remained
impassive.

“Joe … what makes you think your daughter is
dead?”

“She went to look for her girl, Lori. Brandi
found her and called nine-one-one, but when the feds came and got
Lori, they couldn’t find my daughter. There’d been a snowstorm.
They found her truck … and the SOB who kidnapped the girl. But they
never found my Brandi.”

Diana shuddered inwardly. The distaste she’d
felt for the man at first glance was rapidly changing to empathy in
spite of his odd reference to his granddaughter as
the girl
.
“How old are your grandchildren?” she asked.

“Keith is ten and Lori’s thirteen.”

“Your granddaughter’s kidnapper was
apprehended? Shouldn’t they be able to get something out of him
about your daughter?”

His eyes sought out something on the carpet.
“He’s dead. There is some justice.”

“Dead?” she echoed.

For an answer, he shrugged, then “Guess you
could say it’s an open case. Homicide.” Flannigan’s lack of eye
contact suggested he might have exacted his own justice. She
decided to pick Jess’s brain later instead of pressing him
further.

Flannigan finally met her glance, his eyes
gone shrewd as he channeled the discussion past the dead kidnapper.
“The kids are pretty shook up, especially the girl.”

There he goes again. The girl. Is she
damaged goods now?
Diana’s budding empathy wilted. “Is she
getting any counseling?” she asked, aware of the irony. She’d
stuffed Dr. Hovac’s suggestion into her mental trash. This was
different, a child was involved.

Flannigan shook his head. “Private things are
best kept in the home. I’m only tellin’ you ‘cause we need legal
help with this mess. He’s not goin’ t’ get the kids.”

“He?” Diana thought she knew. “Is their
father in the picture?”

“Damn straight he is, and it isn’t a pretty
picture. He’s got no business with these kids.” Joe Flannigan’s
ruddy complexion deepened in color. Diana had the feeling that it
would be unhealthy to be on the receiving end of this man’s
wrath.

“You know, Mr. Flannigan,” began Diana,
opting out of first-name basis, “the courts always favor the
parents … unless there’s a serious impediment─”

He was up, out of the chair, into her face.
“There is, damn it!” His breath reeked of stale cigarettes and
indigestion. “He killed her. The rotten, womanizing SOB killed my
Brandi.”

Chapter 4

Joe Flannigan sank back in his chair, looking
like he was about to have a coronary. “Try to calm yourself, Mr.
Flannigan.” Diana got up and filled a glass from a pitcher of water
on the credenza, handed it to Flannigan.

He took a sip, and then eyed her sheepishly.
“Sorry. It gets to me. Know what I mean?”

Diana nodded. She knew what he meant when it
came to rotten, womanizing SOBs.

“I know what you’re goin’ to ask, and no, I
can’t prove it, not any of it.” He shook his head slowly, like it
was a tremendous weight on his shoulders. “But I know it in my
gut.” He paused and took another gulp of water. “October, beginnin’
of elk season, he took the girl huntin’. Him and his buddies. My
Brandi didn’t hunt. Had a soft spot in her heart for animals.
Strays and wild ones alike.”

He seemed to be fading away again. Diana saw
tears welling under faded, sandy lashes. She cleared her throat
discreetly to bring him back.

A shudder ran through his body that he shook
off like a dog emerging from water before picking up his discourse.
“She went down the street, the girl did. For a soda pop or
who-knows-what. He let her go by herself. It got dark─”

“Wait a minute,” Diana interrupted, alarms
going off in her head. “You were there and you didn’t say
anything?”
Unbelievable.

“No, no.” He waved away her words. “I was
down gassin’ up my truck. Didn’t see her on the street. Didn’t know
t’ look. Don’t know where Strickland was when she left, but we sure
know where he ended up. Right, Missus?”

“Strickland is the man who took your
granddaughter?”
The dead guy?

He nodded, again fixing on the carpet. “Her
dad didn’t help by suggestin’ she ran off.”

“Runaways are a big problem for law
enforcement. Do you realize how many they have to deal with each
year?” she asked.

“In some big city, maybe. We weren’t in
Denver,
Missus Martin
. We were in the Sangre de Cristos
huntin’ elk, for God’s sake. We came down to Westcliffe for the
night. You know how small that town is? Where would she run
to?”

Something didn’t sound right. “Considering
the low esteem in which you hold your son-in-law, how did you
happen to be there?”

He snorted derisively. “Four men and one
pretty little gal? You think I’d let that happen? You bet your
sweet … ah … you bet I was there, yes Ma’am.”

“Has your granddaughter named Strickland as
the one who took her?” Other questions tumbled into Diana’s mind,
but she held back, not wanting to push Flannigan over the edge
again.

“The girl, she won’t talk about it. It became
apparent who took her because of where they found her. Strickland’s
cabin.”

“Are you in the habit of going hunting with
your son-in-law? Was this something you’d done in the past?”

He was somewhere else again. Somewhere
painful from the look in his eyes. “I regret to say … it was
somethin’ we did for many years.” He looked up then, and Diana saw
tears again. “Had it not been for our acquaintance, Darren Rogart
never would o’ met my Brandi and taken her from me.”

Taken her from me?
Did he mean by
marrying her, or killing her?

“So, your son-in-law wasn’t estranged from
the family when either your daughter or your granddaughter went
missing?”

Flannigan glared at her. “He’s been
estranged
from me for a long time.”

“What about the children? How do they feel
about their dad?”

Another snort. “He’s got ‘em mesmerized. They
think he walks on water.”

Diana’s turn to glare. She tried to
neutralize her hostility. “A piece of advice,
Joe
,” she
said, switching back to first name basis to soften her words,
“don’t badmouth your son-in-law to his kids. That won’t make you
any points in court.”