The Killing Room Read online

  As Nicole walked along the trail, she wondered why she was taking a trip down memory lane. It wasn’t like those people were a part of her life. But the therapist in her knew that those years had shaped her life and because of them, she was who she was today. Corny, but true. Had she not been a fat teenager with glasses who got teased mercilessly, she may have been a cheer-leader dating the quarterback and stayed in Grand Junction and gotten married instead of going to college. Well, that probably wouldn’t have happened. She knew even back then that she was gay. She just didn’t do anything about it. In fact, she didn’t do any-thing about it until… God, was I really twenty-four?

  “Suzette,” she murmured dryly. They had been in medical school together. And to this day she’s convinced it was her encounter with Suzette that caused her to abandon medical school and settle on psychology instead of psychiatry. Her world had been turned upside down, and she simply couldn’t handle that and med school at the same time.

  Again she rolled her eyes. Dorothy could have fun with her thoughts today. She might even make a case study. But she knew it wasn’t really Suzette’s fault. It was just a good excuse at the time. The reality was, she didn’t want to be a physician. She wanted to be out helping people, counseling them. Not studying medicine.

  Nicole stopped suddenly and looked around. She’d been hiking for over an hour and had been so lost in her thoughts that she had no idea where she was. Thankfully, she was at least still on the trail. Loosening the straps on her pack, she let it slide to the ground as she rested on a boulder the size of a small car. Unfolding the map, she spread it out across her thighs and tried to determine where she was. She hadn’t started the switchbacks yet to climb to Cottonwood Pass. Moving her finger along the map, she found a small stream she would cross before climbing higher, and she was fairly certain she’d not crossed a stream. Surely she’d not been that out of it. After a quick drink of water, she again shouldered her pack and walked off, this time making a point to acknowledge her surroundings instead of getting lost inside her own mind.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  “Drop your goddamn weapon!” she yelled.

  “Come any closer and he’s dead! You hear me?”

  “Drop your fucking weapon… NOW!”

  Jake sat up quickly, her heart racing. She touched her face, feeling tears still fresh on her cheeks, and she rubbed vigorously. The dream. Always the fucking dream. She wiped at her forehead, feeling the perspiration that had formed. Taking a deep breath, she lay back down, running her fingers through Cheyenne’s fur to reassure the dog everything was okay. She’d hoped that the damn pain pill would knock her out enough so that she wouldn’t dream. Sometimes, it did. But more often than not, the little boy would visit. She wondered how long it would be before she slept through the night. A part of her feared she’d never be able to sleep through the night again.

  Rolling over onto her side, she reached under the covers and touched her wristwatch, checking the time. It was only three. Too early to get up but too late to try for a good night’s sleep. She closed her eyes, willing sleep to come. But forty minutes later, she was still awake.

  She tossed the covers off and, with difficulty, managed to swing her leg over the side. She sat there in the darkness, one hand absently rubbing along her thigh, feeling the scar tissue that remained after her surgery. Small price to pay. She could have lost the whole damn leg.

  Cheyenne moved closer, nudging her with a cold, wet nose. Jake rubbed behind the dog’s ear, wondering what she would have done these last few weeks if not for Cheyenne. She was a comforting presence, a silent presence. Every person in her life had asked the same question: Do you feel responsible for the little boy’s death? Even those who didn’t ask, she could still see the question in their eyes. The question and the accompanying sympathy. And in others, she saw relief. Relief that it was Jake who was first on the scene, not them. All but Rick. Her big, macho partner blamed himself. He should have stayed with her. But instead, he’d chased down a guy running from the scene, a supposed accomplice. He turned out to be an older cousin of the boy who was shot. By the time Rick caught him, gunshots were already sounding in the alley. He’d rushed back to Jake, only to find her shot and bleeding profusely… the uniformed officer Perkins and the little boy lying dead, not five feet apart. Perkins had taken a shot to the neck. The little boy, a single gunshot to the head.

  Jake squeezed her eyes closed, trying so hard to forget that night, knowing that she never would. The hardest part was waiting. Waiting to find out if it was her bullet that had killed the little boy.

  “Come on, girl. Let’s have an early breakfast.” Jake grabbed the nightstand next to the bed and used it to steady herself as she put weight on her leg. It was stiff but actually felt much better than she thought it would. Apparently the soak in the tub had done wonders. Reaching for the cane, she walked through the dark room and into the kitchen, flipping on the overhead light, then closing her eyes against the brightness. Cheyenne, too, turned away from the light. She walked into the living room and climbed upon the sofa, curling into a ball in one corner.

  Jake lit the propane heater in the living room to chase away the early morning cold, then put coffee on. Leaning one hip against the counter as she waited, she surveyed the small cabin, her eyes lighting upon objects quickly, then moving on. The Navajo rug she’d picked up in Santa Fe years ago. The old wooden snow shoes that hung over the mantel, she’d found in an abandoned cabin high up in the Wet Mountains near the Spanish Peaks. Handmade pottery—vases and bowls—littered her bookshelves and tables. The few prints that adorned the walls were mountain scenes, painted by a local artist in Crested Butte. Jake had stumbled upon her studio one summer when she’d ridden her mountain bike from her cabin to the ski village some forty miles away. She was out of water and had gone begging. Serena, with her long shiny black hair, had offered her kitchen in the back of her studio. Jake smiled at the memory. She’d stayed three days.

  “Oh, to be young again,” she murmured lazily. She wondered if Serena was still around. Jake hadn’t run into her in years.

  The smell of coffee brought her thoughts back to the present, and with automatic motions, she poured coffee and added a tea-spoon of sugar, closing her eyes as she sipped the hot liquid. It was far too early to plan her day, but at least she felt well enough to plan a day. Last night, as she’d struggled with the pain, she imagined she’d be laid up all day, recovering. But, as she flexed her leg, she thought she might even be up to a short hike.

  Although, if it was as warm as it had been yesterday, she may simply choose the lawn chair on the deck and sit with a book, soaking up the sun while she still had the chance. Which would be fine. It wasn’t like she made a habit of lounging on the deck.

  She crossed over into the living room, turning on a lamp as she went. Cheyenne opened her eyes, then closed them just as quickly. Apparently, she hadn’t recovered from the hike yesterday, either. Jake eased into the recliner and stretched her leg out, careful not to spill her coffee. She sat facing the large windows that overlooked the Collegiate Peaks. Still a couple of hours before daylight, she stared into the darkness, seeing nothing. It was at times like these that she was most frightened. Awake and alone with no distractions. In her mind, she saw the little boy’s face, the scared look in his eyes. And later, the look on his mother’s face, the tears, the accusing eyes. Telling herself that she’d done all she could do wasn’t helping anymore. She was to blame. She should have taken a shot earlier. She shouldn’t have tried to talk to the bastard.

  Closing her eyes, she ran her hand over her injured leg, reminding herself that she hadn’t come out totally unscathed. No, but she was still breathing. She leaned her head back, bits and pieces of that night flying through her mind in no particular order, the gunshots sounding just as loud in her mind as they had that night.

  “Goddamn it,” she whispered.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Nicole emerged from her tent well after daybreak, the sun a
lready warming the day. She stretched her arms over her head and bent back, loosening up her tight muscles. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d slept through the night. It had been glorious. And she wasn’t in any hurry. No reason to get up at the crack of dawn and hit the trail. She had time to relax. She’d allotted seven or eight days for the trip but if that stretched to ten, no big deal. Catherine would cover for her.

  She lit the small stove she carried and heated water for coffee and oatmeal. Sitting cross-legged on the ground, she looked over-head at the blue, blue sky and took a deep breath. Yes, she would take her time. And if the fates were being kind, she would stumble upon one of the many hot springs that dotted the Collegiate Peaks.

  She could already envision it, stripping naked on the spot and submerging into a crystal clear, bubbling hot springs. “Heavenly,” she murmured. She pulled the folded map from her jeans pocket and opened it, her eyes searching for the black dots that signified hot springs. They were more numerous around Mt. Princeton. More numerous and more populated. No, she was looking for something a little more secluded. And for that, she’d have to get off the Colorado Trail and… pick up Cottonwood Creek. The trail followed the canyon into the mountains, crossing over Cottonwood Creek six or eight times along the way. And she counted… four hot springs. From there, she could follow Ptarmigan Creek which met up with a Forest Service trail that would take her to Cottonwood Lake. She could pick up the main trail again there.

  She picked up a small rock and turned it over in her hands. Two days. It would add at least two days to her trip. Was hiking out of the way to find four obscure little hot springs worth it?

  “Absolutely.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “I know it doesn’t look like it to you, but I am hurrying,” Jake said, looking Cheyenne right in the eye. Yes, she swore the dog understood every word. Cheyenne cocked her head once, then walked on, turning back occasionally to make sure Jake was following her.

  She’d decided on a relatively easy afternoon hike, one in which she might be able to catch the sunset over Cumberland Pass. That is, if she hurried. After only four days up here, her leg felt much stronger, but she continued to be cautious and use the cane. Especially out in the forest. One slip on a rock, and she’d go down. But it had felt really good that morning to walk around the cabin without the aid of the cane. It wouldn’t be long, she knew. Whether or not she ever regained one hundred percent strength back, she had no idea. The doctors had seemed happy to tell her she’d walk again. And her physical therapist, although a little quirky, had pushed her hard. She was actually looking forward to seeing him again. She knew he’d be surprised at the progress she’d made.

  But she didn’t want to get ahead of herself. That was why, after the longer hike yesterday, she’d settled on a short, easy one today. Now, she paused at the base of the hill. An easy hike, except for this last part. It involved climbing nearly straight up to reach the ridge—the ridge and her sunset. Cheyenne was already up the trail, a trail Jake had made years ago when she’d first found the ridge. She hesitated, wondering if she should be satisfied right where she was. But the cirrus clouds overhead promised a colorful show.

  So, with a determined effort, she put all of her weight on her left leg, pushing off the rock and holding onto the limbs of a young spruce as she brought her injured right leg up. She felt the shooting pain as soon as she put her weight on it, but she pulled herself up. Cheyenne, as if sensing her discomfort, came back down the trail, waiting.

  “It’s okay, girl,” Jake murmured. “I’m still coming.”

  And one step at a time, she pulled her way to the top, managing to catch only the last pink rays as they reflected off the clouds. The sun had already disappeared. But it didn’t matter. She’d made it. She slid down the side of a boulder, resting on the ground as she stared out to the west, watching the daylight begin to fade from the sky. She’d be hard-pressed to make it back to the cabin before dark, but again, it didn’t matter. She felt a sense of accomplishment as she sat on top of the ridge. After just a few minutes rest, she made herself get up. If nothing else, she at least needed to make it back to the main trail before dusk.

  But she need not have worried. The trip back down was easy and quick. Once back on level ground, she leaned heavily on the cane, following Cheyenne back to the cabin as darkness surrounded them.

  And once safely back inside, she was pleased to notice that her appetite had returned. For the past three weeks, she had to force herself to eat. But tonight, she felt like…

  “A steak.”

  She took a thick T-bone from the freezer and put it in the microwave to thaw as she drew her bathwater. Another hot soak, a steak on the grill, bottle of wine, maybe a few chapters of the mystery book she’d brought along. She felt almost like she was getting back to normal. And if she could sleep through the night, it’d be an added bonus.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Nicole stood at the small stream, looking in both directions, then back at the map. The trail on the map crossed over the stream and continued until it reached Cottonwood Creek. However, across this stream was… a mountain. Nicole leaned her head back, looking up high to the top of the peak, then back down to the little stream.

  “Shit,” she whispered. Am I lost?

  She let her pack fall to the ground as she turned a circle, wondering where she’d taken a wrong turn. As she looked around, she noticed that she wasn’t really on a trail anymore. This, obviously, was not Grizzly Gulch. “Christ.” She unzipped a side pocket on her pack and pulled out her compass. Well, she was facing west. At least she thought she was. Turning a complete circle, she watched the compass needle turn with her. Yes, sure enough, she knew which direction was north. Great. And if she only knew where she was on the map, the fact that she knew where north was might help her. She’d been told numerous times that there was an art to using a compass. An art that she’d obviously not mastered.

  “So I’m lost.”

  Saying the words out loud caused a mini panic attack, and she leaned back against the trunk of a Douglas fir and closed her eyes. She couldn’t really be that lost. Surely. An hour ago, she would swear she’d been on the right trail. Or so she thought.

  “Okay, okay. Talk it out. You’re an educated woman. How hard can it be?” She pushed off the tree, pacing next to the bank of the tiny stream. “I’m on the east side of the Continental Divide, so, I would turn south and follow the stream. It’s going to hook up with… maybe Grizzly Gulch.” She looked at the map again. No, Grizzly Gulch should be… God, like I know. She rolled her eyes. “When in doubt, follow a stream. It’s got to go somewhere. Or, you can backtrack.” She looked behind her. If only there was a real trail to backtrack to.

  She shouldered her pack again and started walking downstream, pleased to see that there was somewhat of a trail there along the bank. Apparently, she wasn’t the only one to hit this dead end.

  But an hour later, when the sun crept behind the mountain, leaving her in shadows, she felt another wave of panic. The trail was nonexistent and the creek was flowing steadily downward. It was slow going as she maneuvered over the rocks that littered the banks. And now that the sun’s rays had left the canyon, she felt the evening chill.

  “Couldn’t walk upon a hot spring, could I? No.”

  Well, it was too early to stop for the day. There was at least another good hour of daylight left. Then she’d find a nice level spot in the forest to pitch her tent. Hopefully, she’d be too exhausted to worry about being lost. And surely to God, tomorrow, this creek would take her somewhere.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  A part of her knew she shouldn’t be doing this. But the stub-born part, the part that won, would hear nothing of it. So, as Cheyenne danced excitedly around her, Jake added a couple of extra dinners to the pack, just in case. Two nights out on the trail, there was nothing wrong with that. She’d be careful. She’d take her damn cane.

  It wasn’t so much being out on the trail, it was the lure of
the hot springs. She felt like Grizzly Gulch was her own personal spa. Few people knew of the springs and those who did found the hike difficult when coming up from the Colorado Trail. If they were smart, they would simply hike the Mt. Princeton trail. The hot springs along the river there were so numerous, if one was crowded, you simply moved downstream to the next. No, the hot springs that bubbled up along Grizzly Gulch were primitive and secluded. Only twice in the eleven years Jake had owned the cabin had she shared the springs. And once was with a black bear that chased her up a tree.

  Pulling the backpack tight on her shoulders, Jake closed and locked the door to her cabin, then dutifully leaned on her cane as she walked down the three wooden steps that took her from the deck to the forest. She figured the normal four-hour hike to the springs would take six. Still plenty of time to get there before dark. Plenty of time to enjoy a soak before bedtime.

  “Oh yeah, Cheyenne, we’ll be living the good life tonight,” she said, smiling as the dog tossed her a look before continuing down the trail. With luck, she added silently. Her leg felt pretty good. Not normal, certainly, but not the constant throbbing pain she’d felt the first three weeks. Still, part of her knew she was overdoing it. But even then, she didn’t care. She just couldn’t stand being confined.

  So, instead of worrying about her leg and the subsequent aches and pains she’d feel after this hike, she focused instead on the mountains around her. After eleven years of hiking these trails, she knew every rock, every tree, and every mountain peak. It brought her a sense of peace that she could never explain to anyone else. It was the smell, the crispness of the air, the sounds of the birds, the whisper of the trees as the wind kissed them. All simple things, insignificant alone but playing off each other much like a well-rehearsed orchestra. Her footsteps on the rocks blended in with the other sounds and soon she was lost in the magnificence of it all. She forgot about her injury, she forgot about her dreams, she forgot about the damn job and just drifted away. Yes, this is what she’d hoped to find up here. Peace. For however long or however brief, she would embrace it.