When the Tiger Kills Read online

  A few more blocks to go: then she was turning into the gated community where she and Ty had built their home. She nodded to the guard on duty, then made a few more turns until she turned into a cul de sac, and the graceful house swam into sight. Achieving that graceful look had not been easy, but it had been worth it. Looking at the house from the outside, no one would ever guess that it was actually two houses – identical in every way – structurally, if not aesthetically.

  Ty had wanted to pay for the entire cost of constructing the house, but she had insisted on paying half. She had barely touched the settlement money she'd been awarded from a wrongful death lawsuit her aunt had filed on her behalf after the tragedy that had robbed her of her parents and her siblings. It had been sitting in a trust fund for years. When she'd told her husband that she planned on dipping into it so that she could meet her half of the expenses for building the house, he had tried to talk her out of it at first. He'd inherited a mind-boggling amount of money when his grandfather had passed away a few years before, so he hadn't seen any reason for her to tap her trust fund at all. She had been adamant, however, and in the end he had given in. She'd been happy to let him deal with the builders and the other contractors, though. He'd offered them all sorts of incentives and bonuses for quick results, so the house had gone up in record time. They were both more than satisfied with the end result.

  Pulling into the driveway and parking in the garage on the right, she got out and walked back to meet Rafe so that they could walk in through the front door together. As she unlocked the door, she could hear a combination of barking and whining that told her that she stood in peril of being pounced upon momentarily.

  Rafe joined her in the foyer. Inside, there were two inner doors, and Dawn proceeded to open the one on the left. A blur of movement resolved itself into a tan and white cocker spaniel, which launched itself upon her, licking her enthusiastically.

  “Okay, Traitor, okay. Gee, didn't anyone pay any attention to you all day?”

  “I still can't believe you named your dog Traitor.”

  Dawn cast a scornful glance at Rafe. “You already know the story. She was supposed to be my dog. I'm the one who rescued her, took her in, gave her a home. So you'd think she'd be grateful, right? But no – she took one look at Ty, and it was looove at first sight. Now she barely even acknowledges me when he's around." Dawn narrowed her eyes suspiciously at the dog. “Why are you so happy to see me? I know he's home – he texted me just a few minutes ago.”

  Mrs. Tilner, the cook/housekeeper that she and Ty employed, arrived on the scene just then and answered the question. “Your father-in-law arrived early. He brought the baby with him. She went down for a short nap, but they spent most of the afternoon playing with her. And she's still afraid of dogs, so Traitor has been either outside or stuck back in the kitchen with me for hours.”

  Dawn gave the dog a few pats before nudging its paws off her legs, taking its jaw into her hand, and commenting, “So that's why you're so attentive suddenly. Got banished again, didn't you? Serves you right.” Traitor just wagged her stump of a tail in response.

  “Where are they?” Dawn inquired.

  “Upstairs. The baby just woke up from her nap. They both went up to get her.”

  Turning to Rafe, Mrs. Tilner said, “You look hungry. I made appetizers. You want some?”

  Dawn waved Rafe ahead of her into the kitchen. “You go ahead. I'm going to run upstairs for a few minutes.” She heard a noise from Ty's den as she made her way to the stairs. Looking in, she saw that the baby monitor, equipped with both video and audio, was still on. There stood her husband, Tyrell Lewellen, all six feet two of him, holding a toddler in his arms. He must have just picked up his little half-sister from the crib they had set up for her in one of the spare rooms, because Dawn could see the baby's small fists knuckling her eyes as she strove to drive the sleep out of them. Ty's voice on the monitor was crystal clear, as if he were standing right there in the room with her as he kept up a running monologue, the only possible form of communication with a small fry who had only recently celebrated her first birthday.

  “Hey, don't look at me like that,” Ty was saying. “I'm the one who saved you from being named Angharad, remember? Or Iseult – that was the second choice. Tegwen was in the running there too for a while. Yes, ma'am, when Dad was throwing around names like that just after you were born, I piled the guilt on the old man for the name he'd saddled me with until he gave you a nice, pronounceable name like Echo. Even if it does sound like we both just stepped out of the pages of a Louis L'Amour novel, it’s better than what it could have been. Do you know that he was actually thinking of naming me Aneirin at one point when he was going through one of his 'Let's remember our Welsh heritage' stages? Can you imagine going through basic training with a name like that?”

  “I don't imagine that she can – or ever will,” Sloan Lewellen remarked as he strolled into view. Besides, I've never understood why you object so much to your name. Has a certain ring to it, don't you think, Echo?”

  Ty put his ear close to the baby's lips and nodded a few times. “What's that?

  Uh-huh, Uh-huh... Echo thinks it's bad enough that you named me Tyrell, without sticking Kilkenny in the middle of it.”

  His father just grinned and held out his arms. “Hand her over, son.” Tyrell complied, and Echo was soon cradled in the arms of her father. “I thought I heard Dawn and Rafe come in,” Sloan commented.

  “Yeah, me too. Time to go down and see what Mrs. Tilner has made us for dinner, Echo. Not that you'll be getting any of it – not until you grow some more teeth, kid. It's baby food, baby food, and more baby food until then.”

  In the kitchen, Rafe popped a stuffed mushroom into his mouth and savored the taste. Hearing a noise, he turned just as Sloan and Tyrell Lewellen walked into the kitchen together. It was obvious at first glance that the two men were related; they had the same brown hair, strong jaw, and hazel eyes. But there the similarities ended. At six foot four, Sloan weighed in at 195 pounds. Barrel-chested and imposing, he emitted a powerful and rather intimidating aura, only partially diminished by the fact that he was holding a tiny baby in his arms. He wore his hair closely cropped, and the flecks of gray that were liberally sprinkled throughout its length were quite absent from his son's head of hair, which was slightly longer and had a tendency to stick up on the crown of his head, due to a stubborn and almost untamable cowlick.

  Tyrell, who at six foot two was a couple of inches shorter than his father, was also much leaner at 167 pounds. In fact, when the two of them were together, it was not unusual for people to form the mistaken notion that Tyrell was not nearly as formidable as his powerful father. Appearances were deceiving, however. Ty might lack his father's bulk, but he was whipcord tough and roped with solid muscle. The training he had received in the martial arts and his years of experience in the military also gave him an edge. In fact, as Rafe had discovered as he grew to know father and son better, Ty was actually the far more dangerous of the two.

  There was nothing dangerous about him now, however, as he smiled at his housekeeper and inquired, “What's for dinner, Mrs. T?”

  “Beef Wellington, roasted red potatoes, some lightly seasoned asparagus, and a nice fresh salad.” With a conspiratorial glance at Tyrell, “I made a double fudge chocolate cake for dessert. We can have ice cream with it.”

  Ty's face lit up with pure delight. “Mrs. T, you're the best. The ultimate. The...”

  Whatever further accolades Ty was planning to add were interrupted by the entrance of Dawn, clad now in black jeans that hugged her long legs and a bright crimson sweater that complemented her dark brown hair, now set free and worn loose around her shoulders.

  Rafe watched as Dawn kissed her husband, embraced her father-in-law, and commented on how much Echo had grown since she had last seen the baby. In his own private mental catalog, he counted one of his blessings in life the ease with which Dawn's husband and family had accepted him as one of
their own. Ty had been a little guarded at first, until he had realized the truth – that Rafe was no threat to his relationship with Dawn. Since then, he had treated Rafe as if he were Dawn's older brother, which, in fact, Rafe guessed was pretty close to the truth.

  They sat down to dinner, enjoying the good food and each other's company. Sloan entertained them with stories of the projects he was currently working on. The conversation would soon have grown boring had another man been talking about his latest business dealings, but Sloan invested them with the sort of wit and charm that stood him in good stead and had made him so successful in his business. Success, he maintained, had more to do with charming people into cooperating with your ideas than with facts and figures and numbers. Those were important, of course, and had to be correct, but if you couldn't sell your ideas to others, you were doomed to failure. The Lewellen Group had thrived under his leadership, grossing billions in revenue each year, and remaining relatively invulnerable to market fluctuations or recessions.

  After the last piece of chocolate cake had been consumed, Rafe and Dawn excused themselves and took their coffee over to the alternate dining room on the other side of the house. The reports and other paperwork on the Cullen Torrense murder and the other open cases they were working on needed to be dealt with. Some of it couldn't wait until morning.

  Sloan and Ty, meanwhile, took Echo downstairs. After arranging her in a playpen and providing her with her favorite toys, they decided that a game of pool was in order.

  “You still planning on coming to the board meeting next week?” Sloan asked as he prepared to break.

  “I promised, didn't I? As long as you keep your promise, I'll keep mine.”

  “What promise?”

  “The one about living forever.”

  Sloan took aim at the five ball. “I'll try. But let's face it, son. One day you may have to take the helm of The Lewellen Group.”

  “People are living longer these days, you know. You take care of yourself, you could live to be a hundred and six.”

  As the five ball swished into the pocket, Sloan commented, “It was different when you were in the Air Force. You were following a career path that didn't leave you any time to be involved in the business. I understood that. But now that you've retired from the service, it's important to consider the future, and what role your holdings in The Lewellen Group will play in that future. You already own 25 percent of the company, Ty. Your grandfather saw to that. When I go, you'll have another 30 percent. That's a controlling interest, son. I know that the business world doesn't exert the same kind of pull on you as it does on me. You might never want to sit in the big chair yourself. But you need to understand how everything works in order to be prepared to choose the right person to succeed me, when the time comes.”

  He missed a shot at the ten ball, and Ty took over.

  “Three ball in the side pocket.” As he prepared to take the shot, Ty said, “I still think you're going to outlive me.”

  “Why?”

  “Only the good die young, Dad.”

  Father and son were equally skilled, and the resulting match was therefore close, but Sloan prevailed and beat Ty by the slimmest of margins.

  As he was bundling Echo up to take her home, Sloan commented to Ty, “What's wrong with Dawn?”

  “What do y' mean, 'What's wrong with Dawn?' Nothing's wrong.”

  “She never asks to hold the baby. Doesn't she like kids?”

  “Of course she likes kids. Come on, Dad, don't make an issue out of this!”

  After his father had left, Ty wandered upstairs to check on Dawn. He entered the bedroom that she had decorated in shades of gold and white and turquoise, with occasional splashes of vivid red. He stood by the bed, picking up a framed photograph from the nightstand and gazing down at it pensively. It showed a happy family group. The father, big and blond, with a wide and generous mouth, his arm flung around the mother, petite and dark. Standing in front of them a boy of ten, his arms folded, pure mischief gazing out of his dark eyes. Next to him, Dawn at eleven years old, holding the last member of her slaughtered family, a tow-haired baby who, from a distance, could pass as Echo's twin sister.

  Setting the photograph back down on the nightstand, Ty headed out of the bedroom and down to Dawn's kitchen, then crossed over into the dining room. Case notes and other paperwork were scattered all over the table, but there was no sign of Dawn or Rafe. He wandered on through the adjoining rooms and finally found Dawn stretched out on the couch in the living room. She opened one eye when he entered.

  “Rafe go home?”

  He got only a sleepy nod in reply.

  “You planning on sleeping down here?”

  She yawned and sat up slowly. “I was just going to lie down for a minute. I couldn't face the stairs.”

  “You ready to go up now?”

  “Yeah. I guess so. Just give me a hand up.”

  Ty pulled her up off the couch and placed a companionable arm around her. Dawn leaned her head on his shoulder as they made their way to the stairs together. “I never got a chance to ask,” she said sleepily. “How did the doctor's appointment go today?”

  “Pretty good, actually. Doc says that he'd place my recovery rate at 97%, which is pretty good, considering that right after the accident they were telling me I might have to use a cane to get around for the rest of my life.”

  “What about the pain?”

  He shrugged. “It's not been a problem lately.”

  She absorbed that, then said, “Ty? Was your father giving you grief again about why I don't interact very much with Echo?”

  He hesitated for just a fraction of a second before answering. “Yeah, a little. I told him not to make a big deal about it.”

  “I just can't seem to deal with it. Maybe when she grows out of babyhood, it will be different. But right now, the resemblance is just so strong...”

  “Don't worry about it.”

  “I try not to, but I don't want it to become an issue between you and your father. It's my problem, and I need to learn how to handle it. Maybe I'll bring it up with Nolan and Sylvia next time we see them.”

  “If you want to, fine. But don't worry about it. Seriously. I can handle Dad.”

  “Okay. Right now, the only thing I want to worry about is catching up on my sleep. It's been a long day. And tomorrow looks like it's shaping up to be just as busy. Lately, it seems like Rafe and I barely have the time to scratch the surface on one case before we get the call to take on another one.”

  *****

  He'd been mad before, but now Will was seething. He didn't like this Michael. The guy gave him the creeps. And he didn't like the way Lee was looking at the guy, stars in her eyes, just because the guy was an “artist”. He didn't even like the guy's beer, for crying out loud. Give him a lager any day, not this pale, light crap. He didn't like to drink when he was on a camping trip anyway, so he'd taken only a few polite sips before surreptitiously pouring out most of the beer behind the rock he was sitting on while the guy's back was turned. And Lee – what was wrong with Lee, anyway? You'd think she'd had half a dozen beers instead of one, the way she was stumbling around and giggling like a silly little girl. Disgustedly, he set his beer bottle down, just as Lee crumpled to the ground. At Michael's move toward her, he jumped up, growling, “I'll take care of her.” But he wasn't that steady on his own feet now. What was wrong with him? As he stood there, trying to clear his head, Michael moved in, landing a kick straight into his gut.

  Chapter 2

  Dale Thrushton was not a happy man. He usually enjoyed his job as park ranger, but he'd taken up the profession to spend time in the great outdoors, not to roust a bunch of good for nothing college kids out of the main camping area, where they'd been wrecking whatever they could get their hands on and tormenting families with young children throughout the previous night. By the time he'd set everything to rights and gotten back home, it was almost nine o'clock a.m. The shattering fight he'd had with his wife whe
n she'd awakened him after he'd only had a couple of hours of sleep, insisting that he take his turn and watch the kids while she ran next door for coffee with a neighbor, had just been the last straw. She didn't seem to get it, what sleep deprivation could do to a man. He'd grabbed his car keys and stormed out. When he was angry, nothing calmed him like driving. He'd chosen this part of the park because, despite the narrow roads and hairpins turns, the scenery was breathtaking.

  As he rounded a bend, a patch of red caught his eye through the trees. A tent. Someone was doing primitive camping way up here, and he wondered whether they had bothered to register with the park office. Sometimes people didn't, because the penalties for not doing so were ridiculously light. The park land had been willed to the city as part of a trust set up by a man named Tucker Borstall. Old Borstall was a descendant of the first settlers of Mountpelier, and he had hated big government, taxes, and regulation of any kind. As a result, he had stipulated in his bequest that the maximum fine that could be charged someone who camped on the land without permission was twenty dollars. So it wasn't surprising that many campers just went directly to their campsites without bothering with the formality of registering.

  Dale parked his jeep and got out, with the intention of making sure that the campers had secured their food properly. Attacks by mountain lions and bears in this part of the state were rare, but not unheard of, and improperly storing food was one of the best ways of attracting them. When he reached the tent, however, no one was there. That made him uneasy, though he couldn't have told anyone why. For some reason, he walked to the cliff edge and looked down. Nothing. He was relieved. Then, just as he turned to go, something caught his eye downstream to the left. Another patch of red. Walking a little farther downhill so that he could see it more clearly, Dale pulled out his binoculars and focused. There. He saw the body – red sweater, blue jeans, sneakers. Running quickly back to his car, he radioed for help. Then he grabbed his emergency kit and began to don his climbing gear.