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If not for the actions of her mother, Rebecca didn’t know if she would be where she was today. Cherice recognized what was happening to her daughter and pushed her to see a therapist. Rebecca initially refused, but her mom kept insisting, applying a potent combination of begging, cajoling and tough love until Rebecca agreed to an initial session.
“This isn’t something you can simply will away,” Dr. Varton said during their first visit. “And with your education and experience, you know that better than anyone.”
Slowly, Rebecca began to confide in the man. She told him about Brandon, about her overwhelming grief. And how the depression was making her question her capabilities as a psychologist. If she couldn’t trust her own mind, was she really qualified to work for the FBI?
It had taken time, but with the help of Dr. Varton and medication, she’d grown to accept that the depression was not her fault and it didn’t invalidate her professional abilities or make her less of a person. Four months after Brandon’s death, she returned to the FBI, ready to get back to work. She had a few rough days in the beginning, but as the months had passed, she found she was able to think about Brandon without feeling like she was standing at the edge of a fathomless black hole, playing chicken with the monster that lived in the depths.
Now, a year and a half later, the memory of his voice brought more comfort than sorrow. There would always be a part of her heart that wouldn’t heal, a raw spot where Brandon had lived. But she was getting better about walling it off, protecting it from the slings and arrows of daily life. Still, it was times like now when she wished she could talk to him again, to pick his brain and discuss the case with him. He’d been the perfect sounding board, always helping her to see the pattern or challenging her to look at things from a different angle.
With a sigh, she closed the laptop and tossed the remains of her dinner in the trash. It was getting late and she needed to sleep—she’d already called Quinn’s superiors and confirmed he was expected at work at seven thirty in the morning. She wasn’t quite sure what a park ranger’s job entailed, but tomorrow she was going to find out.
* * *
Quinn arrived at park headquarters the next morning, feeling far older than his thirty years. He hadn’t slept well the night before. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the two women he’d found in the park, and the memories haunted him. Finding the first had been bad enough. When he’d found the second a week later, he’d needed time off to cope. His boss had insisted he talk to a counselor, but it hadn’t helped much. The shrink had suggested some meditation techniques and visualization exercises, but it seemed no matter what Quinn tried to think about, his brain always circled back to the women and, eventually, Ashley.
The distraction of work was his only refuge, but even that had its limits. He was desperate to get outside, to move his body and let his mind take a break. But he was also more than a little afraid of what he might find while patrolling the park.
On the advice of the Alpine Police Department, the rangers had posted notices throughout the area, advising hikers and campers of the recent deaths. The signs were carefully worded so as not to cause panic, but anyone who paid attention to the news would know about the gruesome discoveries in the park. The press hadn’t affected tourism...yet. New campers arrived every day, their packs bulging and their spirits high. Quinn could only hope that the killer had moved on; he didn’t think he could handle finding another body.
“Quinn.” He turned at the sound of his name to find his boss, Gary Thompson, standing in the doorway to his small office. Gary beckoned Quinn over and gestured for him to take a seat across from his desk.
“How you holding up?” The older man’s gray eyes were filled with genuine concern, and Quinn felt something in his belly loosen. He propped his hat on his knee and shrugged.
“I’ve been better.” Should he tell Gary about his dreams and his trouble sleeping? Or would that make it sound like he couldn’t handle his job? The thought of time off with nothing but his thoughts for company frightened him, so he kept his mouth shut.
“I imagine you have.” Gary shook his head. “Hell of a thing, these murders. I’ve never seen anything like it in my fifteen years with the National Park Service.”
Quinn was silent, mulling over his response. He really didn’t want to talk about the details of what he’d seen, but Gary wasn’t the type to gossip. “I hope they catch whoever did this soon,” he said.
Gary nodded. “You and me both. I got a call last night from some lady with the FBI. Rebecca something. She wanted to know when you’d be at work today.”
Nerves jangled in Quinn’s stomach. The police had released him last night after he’d spoken with her. Had they changed their minds? Was she coming to arrest him?
Please, not here, he thought desperately. If he was arrested inside the ranger station, in full view of his colleagues and any park visitors, his career would be over.
“If you need to take time off to help with the investigation, you’ve got it.”
It took Quinn a moment to register what Gary was saying. “I’m sorry?”
“The FBI lady made it sound like you were helping her with the investigation. If you need to take some leave, it’s fine with me.”
Quinn nodded slowly, his thoughts racing. What was Gary talking about? Rebecca had given no indication she wanted his help when they’d spoken yesterday. Was this some kind of trick, or was he simply overreacting? “I appreciate that,” he said. “I’ll talk to her and find out if it’ll be necessary.”
“We all want to catch this killer,” Gary said, rising to his feet. Recognizing the conversation was over, Quinn stood as well. “As I told the police and this FBI agent, we’ll do whatever it takes to help their investigation. You’re one of my best rangers, but we can spare you for that.”
“Thank you, sir.” The praise was unexpected, and Quinn felt both pleased and humbled at the man’s words. It was nice to know his work was appreciated, especially now when he was feeling so uncertain about things.
Quinn headed over to his desk and placed his hat next to his computer keyboard, then walked over to the coffeepot and poured himself a cup of the strong brew. He glanced at the large white board posted on the far wall as he returned to his seat. The board displayed a detailed map of the park, along with today’s weather forecast, river conditions, campsite closings and any areas of concern or issues to note. Nothing unusual jumped out—the burn ban prohibiting campfires was in effect, and the trails where he’d made his discoveries were still closed to allow the police to finish gathering evidence. Other than that, it looked like they were in for another warm day.
The bell above the door jingled, indicating a new visitor. Quinn’s desk was behind a partition, so he couldn’t see who had walked in. But he heard her voice float through the room as she returned a greeting from the front-desk attendant.
“Hello. I’m looking for Quinn Gallagher.”
“Let me check if he’s in.” The young woman who manned the desk poked her head around the corner, one eyebrow raised in query as she made eye contact with Quinn. He nodded, and she moved back to her station.
“Yes, ma’am. He’ll be out in just a minute.”
“Thank you.”
Quinn took a moment to brace himself, drawing in a deep breath. She’s not going to make a scene, he told himself. He didn’t know what more she wanted to talk about, but whatever the subject, he’d get her out of the station so they could have a bit of privacy. His coworkers were good people, but everyone was curious about the case of the two dead women. He’d rather not discuss things in front of an audience, however well-meaning they might be.
Grabbing his coffee, Quinn walked around the partition