Mountain of Evidence Read online

  “The latest test results from the Mary Lee Mine show contamination with radioactive material.” Jason Beck, a new member of the team who had been assigned to the Ranger Brigade from the US Park Police, spoke up. Tall, with close-cropped brown hair, Beck looked younger than his twenty-nine years. “There are no radioactive elements occurring naturally in that area, so it’s possible TDC brought them in—either knowingly or unknowingly—in all the waste rock that’s been dumped there.”

  “TDC contends that those reports are evidence Trask stored illegal nuclear material at the mine.” Lieutenant Michael Dance, muscular and intense, spoke from the other end of the conference table.

  “But as yet they haven’t offered any explanation of how or where he obtained this mysterious material,” Beck said. “Or how they would know about it.”

  “It’s an interesting puzzle,” Grant said. “But the Montrose County Sheriff’s Department and Homeland Security are involved in investigating the terrorism allegations against Trask. Our focus is on finding the missing man, since he disappeared from our jurisdiction and the few suspicious sightings we’ve had seem to indicate he’s still here.”

  “Here” was over 130,000 acres of public land that included the National Park, Curecanti National Recreation Area and Gunnison Gorge National Conservation Area. A lot of very empty country, much of it without roads, where the former army ranger might be camping out.

  “It could explain why Trask disappeared in the first place,” Beck said. “Though Montrose hasn’t been very forthcoming with any information they might have, and Homeland Security sure isn’t going to share whatever they have.”

  “That is about to change, at least on the Montrose side of things,” Grant said. He strode to the door and opened it. “Deputy Martin, you can join us now.”

  Montrose County Sheriff’s Deputy Faith Martin, a few brown curls escaping her tight bun, surveyed her new colleagues warily. Grant imagined the petite, feminine officer had had to prove herself over and over again in what had been, as far as the reports he received indicated, an unblemished career as a law enforcement officer. “Deputy Martin is our new liaison with the sheriff’s department,” Grant said. “Deputy Martin, please report on the department’s progress in their investigation into the charges against Dane Trask.”

  Martin nodded, took the empty chair beside Knightbridge, and proceeded to speak without notes, in a calm contralto voice. “TDC has shared security footage they attest shows Trask smuggling uranium ore from another site they’re in the process of mitigating,” she said. “One near Uravan, Colorado, an area of active uranium mining in the forties and fifties.”

  “Attest?” Beck asked.

  Martin shrugged. “He’s carrying a rock. The video is poor quality, so we can’t tell if it’s really uranium ore. Someone suggested it might be waste rock Trask was testing as part of his job duties, but someone has convinced Homeland Security that is not the case.”

  “Even if Trask did take old uranium ore from a defunct mine, it wouldn’t be high enough quality to make anything useful to a terrorist,” Dance said. “It’s one reason those mines played out.”

  “Maybe the terrorist doesn’t know that,” Mark “Hud” Hudson said. Another new recruit, he was the team’s tech expert, though his muscular build and fondness for sports belied the usual geek image. “Maybe Trask is pulling a fast one on them.”

  “TDC has pulled back their allegations against Trask’s admin, Cara Mead, at least for the time being,” Martin said. “Apparently whatever evidence they had against her was circumstantial, at best.”

  Jason Beck, Cara Mead’s fiancé, mumbled something under his breath. Grant sent him a warning look and he sat up straighter in his chair. “Thank you, Deputy Martin,” Grant said.

  Grant consulted his meeting notes. He was about to dismiss the group when a knock on the door interrupted. “Come in,” he called.

  One of the three civilians who served as administrative support for the team—Sylvia—peered around the door. “I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s a woman here who says she needs to speak to whoever is in charge of the Dane Trask case. She says it’s urgent.”

  The energy level in the room immediately rose. Grant knew better than to hope they might be a little closer to getting Dane Trask out of their hair, but sometimes you did get lucky. “Put her in my office,” he said. “I’ll be right there.”

  All of his officers were working on this case, but if this woman wanted to speak to the person in charge, that would be him. Dane Trask might be a pain in the keister, but he was Grant’s pain.

  Chapter Three

  Striking. It wasn’t a word Grant had used to describe a woman before, but it fit Eve Shea perfectly. She had thick, honey-colored hair that flowed past her shoulders, and was mussed by the wind, not so much styled as somewhat tamed by the tortoise shell clips that held it back on each side of her face. And what a face—dark, thick brows above wide-set hazel eyes and a nose that was maybe larger than considered conventionally beautiful, and a sharp chin. The strong features suited her. He estimated she was in her middle thirties—young, but not too young. She wasn’t a large woman, but she carried herself with the air of woman who was prepared at any moment to kick butt and take names.

  “I’m Commander Grant Sanderlin,” he said after Sylvia had introduced his visitor and left.

  Ms. Shea shook his hand with a firm grip. He released her hand reluctantly, her skin smooth and cool against his own. He motioned for her to sit and took his own chair. “What can I do for you, Ms. Shea?”

  “If you’re investigating this case, you already know Dane Trask and I dated for three years. We split up six months ago.”

  Grant felt the sensation of something clicking into place in his mind. He’d been so distracted by this woman’s presence that he had failed to register the significance of her name. One of his officers—Hudson, he thought—had interviewed her shortly after Trask was reported missing. “Do you have some new information for us?” Grant asked. “Has Trask contacted you?”

  The sudden tightness around her mouth made him think his words had touched a nerve. She opened the large leather satchel slung over one shoulder and withdrew a manila envelope. “I received this in the mail this morning,” she said, handing the envelope across the desk. “The handwriting on the envelope is Dane’s—or a very good forgery.”

  Grant slipped on his reading glasses—the fact that he had to use them in the past few months still grated. He took a pair of nitrile gloves from his desk drawer and slipped them on before he slid the single sheet of paper onto the desk and studied it. “What is this?” he asked after a moment.

  “It’s a press release,” she said. “Or, at least, it’s in the style of a press release. I used to work as a reporter for the Montrose Daily Press and I probably had hundreds of these come across my desk in my time there. Though they usually include contact information to allow the reporter to follow up on the story. This one doesn’t.”

  Grant skimmed the document again. “Why do you think Trask sent this to you?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe he wants me to take it to my former employer and ask them to publish it. But I can’t do that.”

  He looked at her, one eyebrow raised in silent question.

  “It would be totally irresponsible to print something this inflammatory,” she said. “Especially without any proof.”

  “Maybe he’s expecting you to find the proof,” Grant said. “Or he thinks you already have it.”

  “I own a flower shop. I haven’t worked as a reporter for quite a while, and I don’t have a connection to TDC.”

  “Then I have to ask again—why did Trask send this to you?”

  The tightness around her mouth became a frown. She reached into her purse again. “This was in the envelope, too.”

  He took the small brass key. “It looks like the key to a safe deposit box
,” he said.

  “Yes.” She let out a long breath. “I have one like it in my jewelry box at home. I’d forgotten all about it until I received this one.”

  “What’s the significance of the key?” Grant asked. “You said you and Trask had broken up—yet you still had the key to a joint safe deposit box?”

  “Not a joint box—this belonged to Dane. And the only reason I still have a key is that he gave it to me so long ago I think we both forgot all about it. Or at least, I did.”

  “Go on. Why did he give you the key in the first place?”

  “It was after we had been seeing each other for about a year, when it felt like things were serious between us. He asked me if I would mind being a signatory on his safe deposit box. That would allow me to access the box in the event something happened to him. He said the box contained his will and some other legal documents and that he could count on me to handle everything properly for him.”

  “Was he anticipating something happening?” Grant asked. “Was he ill, or had he mentioned threats from someone?”

  “Nothing like that. That was just how Dane was—how he is. He’s prepared for any eventuality, and he’s usually thinking two steps ahead of everyone else.”

  “You agreed to be responsible for his affairs if something happened to him?”

  “Yes. He didn’t think his daughter, Audra, was old enough to deal with those things. She was barely twenty at the time.” She shrugged. “And I thought he was the man I’d marry. The request to do this for him wasn’t unreasonable.”

  “If things were so serious between the two of you, why did you end the relationship?” Did Trask have another woman in his life they should question? Or a secret vice that might have led him to abandon his everyday life?

  “He didn’t feel the same way about marriage and family as I did,” she said. “We parted amicably and remained friends.” She nodded toward the envelope on the desk in front of Grant. “Maybe that’s why he sent that to me. He needed help and turned to a friend.”

  Grant examined the key more closely. “Did you ever see the contents of the box?” he asked.

  She shook her head. “We went to the bank and I signed some papers and got the key, but I never opened the box. I really had forgotten all about it.”

  “When you received this key this morning, did you go to the bank and open the box?”

  “No. I came straight here.”

  Smart woman—if she was telling the truth, and that should be easy enough to verify. Banks recorded everything. “Which bank?”

  “Community United,” she said.

  He made note of the name, then studied her for a long moment. She pretended not to notice his scrutiny, instead focusing on the photograph on the credenza behind him, of him with both his daughters. “Are those your children?” she asked.

  “Yes.” He could have left it there, but added, “Beth is seventeen and Janie is fifteen. They live with their mother in DC.” And I don’t see nearly enough of them.

  “They’re very pretty girls.”

  He would have liked to talk with this woman about his daughters, one of his favorite topics, especially now that he lived so far from them, but he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. “What kind of a relationship did you have with Trask?” he asked.

  “Pardon me?” A hint of frost tinged her voice.

  “I’m trying to get into this man’s head, to think like he thinks. To try to figure out his next move. At one time not that long ago you were closer to him than probably anyone else. Maybe you can help me understand him more fully.”

  Some of the tension eased from her body. “Dane is very intelligent, very capable. He’s the kind of person who excels at everything he does. He makes everything look easy. He’s very calm and dependable. He’s not one to fly into rages or act impulsively.” She leaned forward. “Disappearing like this—it’s not like him. When Dane does something, he’s thought about it a long time and come up with a plan. He doesn’t act rashly.”

  “He sounds perfect.” Grant couldn’t keep the note of derision from his voice. “Who initiated the break-up between the two of you?”

  “How is that pertinent?”

  “You said he was the type to plan things. Maybe breaking up with you was part of his preparations to disappear.”

  “Our splitting up wasn’t his idea, it was mine. But I don’t think Dane was surprised when I told him I couldn’t date him anymore.”

  “Was he upset about it? Did he try to talk you into reconsidering?”

  “No.”

  And that hurt, didn’t it? Grant thought. If you were with someone for three years, he ought to at least protest a little. “Dane wasn’t one to argue with a decision,” she said, as if to defend Trask. “He could see I’d made up my mind and he respected that.”

  “Did you keep in touch?”

  “A couple of times after that I ran into him in town. And I got a text from him on my birthday.”

  “When was that?”

  “January 10.”

  “Do you know if Trask dated anyone after the two of you split?”

  “Your officer asked me that and the answer is, I don’t know. I didn’t keep up with his personal life.”

  She was giving him another “that is none of your business” stare, but he had to get past people’s barriers to the information they possessed that would help him do his job. “What was your first thought when you saw the envelope?” he asked.

  “I was afraid.”

  The answer surprised him. Eve Shea didn’t strike him as a woman who frightened easily. “Why was that? Did you feel Trask was a threat to you? Has he ever threatened you before, or tried to harm you?” He could taste the anger at the thought at the back of his throat, and inhaled deeply to beat it back. He was interviewing a potential witness, not defending a crime victim.

  “Dane would never hurt me!” Her shock at the idea rang clear in the words.

  “Yet you were afraid when you saw the envelope, addressed to you in Trask’s handwriting.”

  “I’d seen a poster at the post office shortly before. It said Dane was dangerous and offered a $25,000 reward for information on his whereabouts. The idea that someone believes he’s dangerous, and is offering that kind of money to track him down...” Her words trailed away and she shook her head. “I was frightened for Dane—knowing he had people hunting him like that. And I thought...” She paused and wet her lips. “I thought if he was getting in touch with me, he must be really desperate.”

  “You still care about him,” Grant said, keeping his voice very even, with no hint of emotion.

  “Of course I care about him. He’s a friend and he’s out there somewhere, alone, unable to defend himself against all these accusations.”

  “You don’t believe the charges against him.”

  “Dane Trask is the last person in the world who would be a terrorist or have anything to do with terrorists,” she said. “He was a soldier, a real patriot. He wasn’t cynical or snide about it, either. Dane really does love his country. As for the embezzlement claims—it’s ridiculous. Dane had money. He wasn’t in debt. I never heard him wish for more money or talk about getting rich or anything like that. And he loved his work. He would never steal, and he certainly wouldn’t steal from an employer.”

  “So you think TDC is making up the story?”

  “I don’t know what to think, but Dane didn’t steal from them. He just wouldn’t.”

  Grant slid the letter into the envelope once more, then stripped off the gloves. “We’ll look into this. Thank you for bringing it to our attention.”

  “I’d like to be with you when you open the deposit box,” she said.

  “I thought you didn’t want to know what was in it,” he said. “That’s why you were turning this over to us.”

  “I didn’t want to
be by myself when I found out the contents,” she said. “But of course I want to know.”

  “I don’t see the need to involve you any further,” he said.

  She stood, and he thought she would leave. Instead, she met his gaze, her expression all determination. “In order to open that box, you’ll need a warrant,” she said. “That takes time. As a signatory on the account, I can open the box for you,” she said. “Won’t that make things quicker?”

  He could have countered her argument with one of his own—that obtaining a warrant shouldn’t be difficult, since Dane was a crime suspect and a missing person. Instead, he nodded, intrigued. “All right,” he said. “You can come with me to open the box.” He suddenly had a desire to take a very personal interest in this case—and in Ms. Eve Shea.

  * * *

  EVE WATCHED THE man in the driver’s seat of the Ranger Brigade cruiser out of the corner of her eye. Slender but muscular, about six feet tall, his sandy brown hair glinting silver at the temples, a few lines fanning out from his blue eyes, Commander Grant Sanderlin made her think of the sea captains she’d seen in paintings. All he needed was a peaked cap and a pipe clenched between his teeth. It was a strong, capable and yes, sexy image.

  She closed her eyes and silently cursed fate or whatever had decided that now—after dozens of uninspiring dates—she met a man who lit a spark in her and he was about as unsuitable as they came. After Dane, she had sworn off dating older men. His reference to his daughters’ mother alluded to divorce, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t remarried. And he had not one but two almost-grown daughters.

  “I want to stop by your house and retrieve your safety deposit box key,” he said, interrupting her thoughts. “I want to see if it really is a match to this one.”

  She shifted toward him in the seat. “Is that why you insisted I ride to the bank with you?”

  He didn’t answer, only asked, “Where do you live?”