Army Ranger Redemption. Carol Ericson

shivered. “He didn’t have a cell phone on him?”

      “No, and he didn’t have a wallet.”

      “You haven’t identified him yet?” She laced her fingers around her cup.

      “Not yet. The coroner’s doing an autopsy this morning, and we’ll get his prints and DNA. Nobody’s reporting anything yet—no missing persons, no accidents, no barroom fights.”

      She didn’t know why she wasn’t telling this nice deputy all about the tattoo the dead man shared with Jim Kennedy. Why hadn’t Jim said something? Maybe he hadn’t seen the man’s tattoo emblazoned on his neck. But why did he have the same one?

      How could that possibly be a coincidence? It had an L and a C. It’s not like it was the tattoo of a hula girl. It meant something.

      She kicked the toe of her boot against the planter on the corner of her porch, the same one Jim had tripped over in the dark.

      What had happened to his leg?

      The man was as full of secrets as the boy had been—and just as dangerous. She’d been as drawn to him last night as she’d been in high school, but this time she’d sensed an answering spark of interest.

      She hadn’t been alone in her feverish daydreams about Jim Kennedy during high school. Lots of the girls at school—even the popular ones—had whispered and giggled about Jim, but none of them, including her, would’ve been allowed to go out with him. He was every parent’s nightmare—long hair, motorcycles and a bad, bad family.

      It had just been Jim, his older brother and their father. They all rode motorcycles, and the older brother and Slick had been hard drinkers and hard partyers. She had no idea what had happened to his mother.

      Deputy Collins glanced at his notepad. “A Mr. Kennedy was with you when you discovered the body?”

      “That’s right. He lives in the next cabin up the road.”

      “Thanks for your help, Ms. Easton. We’ll contact you if there’s anything else or if we think you might be in some kind of danger.”

      “Danger?” Her pulse jumped. “You mean if the man’s death was some random murder and there’s a killer on the loose?”

      “I don’t think that’s the case. He looked like a rough customer, probably ran with a rough crowd. Once we ID him, we might be able to put your mind at ease. You probably don’t have anything to worry about.”

      Yeah, except for her attraction to Jim Kennedy, who had the same tattoo as the dead man. That worried her.

      “Well, I’ll be here if you have any more information for me.”

      He tipped his hat, and the copse of trees ringing her property swallowed him up as he made his way to his car.

      Through narrowed eyes, she watched him get into his car, the last of the emergency vehicles that had been out here all night.

      If this rough customer had died in the woods beyond her cabin as a result of a fight, she had nothing to fear. She hadn’t seen anything. She couldn’t point the finger at his killer, and she didn’t know the dead man.

      But if someone was running around Timberline stabbing people and dumping them on her property, then she had plenty to fear.

      She snorted and took a gulp of lukewarm tea. Why would someone want to do that? She knew nothing about anything—no more dream quests for her, no more psychic mumbo jumbo, as her cousin Jason called it.

      Except that she did know something. She knew Jim Kennedy and the dead man shared the same tattoo, and Jim hadn’t said a word about it to anybody.

      She retreated to her cabin and slammed the door. She’d come back to Timberline to work, and she planned to keep her head down and do just that.

      She didn’t have the time or energy to sort out a brooding war vet with trouble in his eyes and sin on his lips.

      * * *

      “IS THIS FOR your granny, Scarlett, or have you taken up knitting, too?”

      Scarlett dropped the two skeins of yarn on the counter. “Me? Knit? You’ve gotta be kidding.”

      Barbara, the owner of A Stitch in Time, rang up the yarn on her register. “You’re so artistic, you could probably do it.”

      “Totally different kind of art, Barbara.”

      “I like those pretty landscapes you do.” Barbara pursed her lips and stuffed the yarn into a bag.

      Scarlett covered her smile with her hand. Barbara didn’t have to like her modern art—enough people did.

      “Thanks, Barbara.”

      “You know,” Barbara said, and shook her finger at Scarlett, “you should do some local crafts, like Vanessa Love does with those Libby Love frogs. Maybe something...Native American.”

      “You mean like dream catchers and tom-toms?” Scarlett raised her brows. “Ah, no. I don’t do that kind of stuff.”

      Reaching for her wallet, Scarlett glanced out the window just in time to see her cousin duck into Sutter’s Restaurant. “How much do I owe you, Barbara? I just saw Jason go into Sutter’s and I’m going to try to catch him.”

      “That’ll be ten dollars and fifty cents. Your cousin is always at Sutter’s.” She cleared her throat. “Not that I’m spying out my window, mind you.”

      “He’s dating a waitress there.” Scarlett put a ten on the counter and dug in her purse for two quarters. “Thanks, Barbara. You’re a lifesaver for finding that purple shade for me.”

      “Anything for your granny, Scarlett.”

      Scarlett tucked the bag beneath her arm and charged across the street to Sutter’s. Jason had been shirking his duty in checking up on Granny when Scarlett had been out of town and she planned to read him the riot act. He couldn’t dump all the responsibility on his sister, Annie.

      The lunch crowd from Evergreen Software was thinning out, and Scarlett zeroed in on Jason lounging at the bar adjacent to the dining area. She waved off the hostess. “I’m going to the bar.”

      She swung around to the side of the restaurant and snuck up behind Jason, tapping him on the shoulder. She grinned as he almost fell off the bar stool.

      “Wow, cuz, are you trying to give me a heart attack?”

      She shook the yarn bag in his face. “It’s gonna be worse than that if you don’t start checking up on Granny more regularly.”

      “She doesn’t want to see me. She’d rather see you and Annie.”

      “That’s ridiculous and it doesn’t matter. She’s getting up there in age, and you need to check on her. You can’t leave that up all up to Annie. She’s busy with her new cleaning business.”

      He shrugged, whipping his long hair back from his face. “Heard you found a dead body outside your place last night.”

      “That’s a neat way to change the subject.” She perched on the stool next to him. “Yeah, some older guy—long, reddish-gray hair. I’d never seen him before.”

      “And I thought your problems were over when that FBI agent killed Jordan Young.”

      “Problems? The county sheriff’s department thinks someone dumped him on the road near my place and he made his way into the woods.” She folded her arms on the bar. “It’s not my problem.”

      Chloe, Jason’s girlfriend, approached them, tucking a notepad into her apron. “Did they find out who the dead guy is yet?”

      Scarlett rolled her eyes. “Does everyone know?”

      “Of course.” Chloe snapped her gum. “It’s Timberline.”

      Jason