Beyond the Shadow (Above & Beyond Book 1) Page 8

  Hawk grabbed the list from Sam’s hand. “He’s dumping garbage on me. What can he hope to gain from this?”

  Sam reflected. “Well, I don’t know anything for sure, but maybe he’s going to start harassing you with lawsuits . . . Did you ever think of that?”

  “Maybe . . . Or how about turning friends against each other? Ever think of that?

  Sam tilted his head, considering. “You might have something there.” He rubbed his brow.

  “This is nuts.” Hawk gave another disgusted look at the list, and Sam, then left the office with an, “I’ll get back to you.”

  Hawk left the sheriff’s office wondering what he had ever done in his life to deserve the plague of John Colter.

  ***

  Lake tried to steady her emotions. Brimming with gratitude at the return of the lost camera—but more than that—she was left in wonder by Hawk. After how she deliberately misjudged him . . . made him the target of her scorn . . . He said he lost his parents . . . that he understood. Could he really? Was his spirit generous enough to forgive her?

  Lake sighed and studied the camera. She needed to express her gratitude to someone in person. River was in school. Hawk was probably out of town by now. Lake grabbed her jacket and headed down toward the café to tell Suzanne the good news. Come to think of it, Fran usually had lunch there, too.

  As she walked down the sidewalk, she spotted Hawk’s truck. He was still in town—and there he was, leaving the sheriff’s office. Even better. She gathered up her courage and called out to him.

  “Hawk.” No response. Crossing the street, she called a little louder, “Hawk.” He seemed in a hurry, thoughts wrapped up in the piece of paper he held.

  The second shout caught his attention and he looked up, mind apparently still on the paper.

  Lake, a little out of breath from hurrying, started enthusiastically, “Oh, I’m so glad I caught you. You can’t imagine . . . I mean . . . how grateful I am—for finding my camera. You don’t know how important it is to me—and River.”

  He was watching and listening, but, after the whole cooler episode, it wasn’t quite the response Lake expected. No smile. Nothing. Maybe she had read too much into the whole thing. A heat of the moment mistake. Feeling foolish, she started to back-peddle as fast a she could.

  “Look—uh . . . You were right. I know we got off on the wrong foot . . . You can’t know how . . . how awful I feel . . . about—” Lake’s hands went out in front of her, palms up. She was seriously stumbling now. Why didn’t he help her out here? “but I really owe you a thanks for finding my camera and . . .”

  “Uh, yeah, sure—glad to do it.” He stared down at the paper in his hand, then, continued with a stiff smile, “A . . . listen, I’m in kind of a hurry right now.” His troubled gaze met her confused one, then dropped back to the paper he held. “I’m sorry. We’ll talk again—soon. Sorry.”

  Without looking up, he tipped his Stetson in the characteristic western gesture, nodded and strode toward his truck, still consumed by the piece of paper he held.

  “Uh, okay . . . sure,” she ended up speaking at the broad shoulders. Lake stood there for a moment wondering what had just happened, then nodded and proceeded into the sheriff’s office. What in the world? She hadn’t expected this kind of reaction. This wasn’t the same smiling cowboy sitting with his dog and a sign on the cabin steps . . . or the passionate truth teller pouring his heart out in Suz’s cooler.

  Lake walked absently into Sam’s office, giving another puzzled look toward the silver truck as she grabbed the old brass knob and opened the door. Sam sat behind the mammoth, well-worn mahogany desk, which must have been there since the dawn of sheriffs. His brows knitted in concentration as he stared at a pile of photographs. He looked up with an expression similar to the one she’d encountered on Hawk’s face.

  “Hey, Sam. Got a minute?”

  The sheriff’s face relaxed a bit. “For you Lake, always. What’s up?”

  What was going on? Considering Sam’s expression, and after another quick look toward the street, she turned the question on him.

  “You tell me. I just ran into Hawk Matthews, coming out of here. He found my camera, by the way.” She flashed a smile. “But when I tried to thank him, well, I think he was in another world.”

  They watched Hawk’s silver truck as it passed by the front windows, heading out of town.

  “Yeah, you could say that.”

  As a photographer, her eyes didn’t miss much. Oh—well—other than mixing up snow covered dogs and wolves, she thought wryly. Her eyes went to the photos on Sam’s desk.

  She motioned to them. That looks like . . . Hawk’s dog.” She squinted from her upside-down view. “Is it?”

  “Well, now—that’s the problem. Sure looks like her, doesn’t it?”

  “And . . . what are those?” she cocked her head and squinted harder.

  “What’s left of sheep.” He rubbed his eyes wearily.

  “Eeeeeuw.” Her face scrunched. “Where did these come from? When did this happen?” She shook her head. “You don’t really think Hawk’s dog . . . or, do you?” Confusing. “The dog didn’t seem to have a mean bone in its body. She’s . . . a rescue dog for heaven’s sake. I thought her pretty mellow.”

  “I’m having a hard time believing it, too. An impossible time . . . Yet . . .” His hand swept above the photos and he shook his head in bewilderment. “I don’t understand it. I’ve known that dog for years and never any indication of tendencies like this” Sam rubbed his eyes again. “I don’t get it.”

  Lake continued to look down at the photos. Something was bothering her.

  She took the chair in front of Sam’s desk.

  “Mind if I take a look?”

  “Well, seeing as how you’ve already seen them. It is an ongoing investigation, though. I’ll ask you to keep it confidential, but, I could use a consultant.”

  “I think you should let me look.” She told him seriously, eyes still glued to the top photo.

  “Go ahead. You’re the expert.” He motioned to the pics.

  Lake picked up the stack of photos and sat back in the chair at the same time. She went through them again, then looked to Sam and back down at the photos. “Sam, something doesn’t look right about these.”

  She laid one of the most incriminating on the desk. “Do you have a magnifying glass?”

  “Yeah, sure.” He began rummaging around in the top desk drawer. “It’s . . .” He shuffled through the top drawer. “Here.”

  “Thanks.” She placed the square framed glass over the rocks. “Um . . . Okay, here, for instance. See the way the light looks coming from the left on the rocks over here? The shadows are cast slightly to the right . . . the angle . . . See?”

  “Oh. Yeah . . . I see.”

  “Well, look at Elle. Notice anything strange?”

  Sam’s lips pressed a straight line. “Sorry, Lake. I don’t.”

  “Look closer.”

  His concentrated frown deepened. “Hold on. Okay. What the—Elle doesn’t have a shadow?”

  Lake beamed. “Bingo. See what I mean? What kind of dog doesn’t cast a shadow? A vampire dog?” With a negative shake of her head, Lake finished, “It wouldn’t happen like this.”

  Sam’s expression lightened and his shoulders relaxed a bit.

  “They’re faked? Are you sure? I mean, could it be a problem with the photo?”

  “Umm. Looks like a consistent problem. They’re all like that.” She went through the stack with him this time. “I mean . . . Look, the light’s coming from this direction—here. I’d need to enlarge them to be one hundred percent sure, but as it is, I’d say I’m ninety-nine and nine-tenths.”

  She thumbed through the rest of them. “Every one. Real issues. Inconsistencies.” Lake frowned. “Yeah, I’m sure. I could enlarge them for you. I’m willing to bet that when they are—the manipulation should show up clearly.”

&n
bsp; Sam looked relieved. “Manipulated, huh? Can you do that for me?” Adding, “Can we document that?”

  “Sure. Not a problem. Can you tell me what’s going on?”

  “Well, I’d rather not get into details, but it involves John Colter and Hawk . . . and Elle.”

  “Say no more. Do you want to do it right now?”

  “Do you have time?”

  “I’ll make time.” She smiled at him. “If someone’s trying to pull a fast one on Elle—” she said Elle, but thought Hawk, too, “they’ll need to try harder. C’mon.”

  The sheriff gathered the photos into a manila folder and they headed across the street to Lake’s studio.

  Two hours later, a relieved Sheriff Patrick held the evidence he needed in his hands. Proof that John Colter’s photos of Elle, were faked. Big time.

  “Whoever altered them, knew their way around Photoshop. Knew what they were doing, all right. If they hadn’t made the mistake with the lighting on Elle, I might not have gone looking for the others. But they are there. All over the place, once you know to look. I’ve circled the areas on the copies with a Sharpie. Hawk might want to line up another expert, though.”

  Lake stretched and rubbed her neck, stiff from sitting still and staring for so long. She’d had enough practice to know the right spots to massage to relieve the tension.

  Sam was off in another world. “Lake, I can’t tell you how much this means to me. How much it will mean to Hawk. That dog is family to him.” The sheriff’s somber expression broke into a relieved smile. “You may have helped save a longstanding friendship too.”

  “Oh, come on. You two wouldn’t have let this come between your friendship.”

  “I suppose not, but things didn’t look too promising earlier. I need to let him know. He was ready to spit nails when he left. Excuse me.”

  Sam pulled out his phone and hit a number. She noticed he only hit one number—he must call Hawk a lot if he has him on speed dial. Sam waited, then shook his head.

  “It’s going to voicemail. Probably deliberate. I don’t think he’s too anxious to talk.” Then, the recording must have started. “Hawk, listen. I’ve got news. Good news. We found inconsistencies with those photos. Looks like they’re bogus. Call me ASAP.”

  “I’m sure, once Hawk sees these enlargements, it’ll ease his mind.”

  Lake was pleased to see the sheriff’s relief. And, well, she owed Hawk.

  “Hawk might want to press some charges of his own.” He patted the folder with the over-sized enlargements sticking out the ends. “Thanks again.” He added still grinning. “And dinner tonight is definitely my treat. No arguments.”

  “Okay.” She laughed. “I’ll go for that. I need to drop River off for his class at the art center about six-thirty, so I should be at Suzanne’s a few minutes after.”

  “Sounds good.”

  ***

  Lake watched Sam cross the street, then sat down to get some work done—but, somehow ended up considering how her efforts helping Sam might put a smile back on Hawk’s face—and feeling more than good at the thought.

  But, was it wise to let her thoughts travel that direction? Think girl, think. Was it smart? Hadn’t she sworn off men—especially after Jeremy’s true colors came through? After dating for a year, to have it end with a phone call. “A six-year-old? You can’t be seriously considering it. Tied down with a six-year-old?” The words still rang in her ears as if Jeremy was standing next to her. “Don’t you have an aunt or someone –anyone—he could go to?” Or, even worse, “Aren’t there lots of people waiting to adopt?” He didn’t have a clue. He hadn’t even shown up for the memorial service—he was on assignment—although, by that time, she didn’t want him there. Right. How could she have been so blind? Misjudged him so completely?

  Note to self—ask more questions next time. Next time? Really? Would she ever be able trust her judgement again?

  More to the point, how could she be attracted to another man so soon after the mess with Jeremy? And—face it—the little scene in Suzanne’s cooler had clearly demonstrated what her subconscious felt about Hawk Matthews—no sense sailing down de-Nile.

  Her thoughts ran on while her hands plaited her hair into her customary side braid. Six months since the crash. And to be fair, Hawk didn’t seem like just another man. She had learned from the whole Jeremy experience, she was certain. But was it worth it? The chance of being hurt? Putting her heart out there again?

  She was probably overthinking that kiss. Stop. Both she and Hawk were young, vital human beings of the opposite sex, in an emotionally super-charged situation—words were failing them. He probably regretted the whole thing happened.

  To be honest, as a photographer, Lake knew the visual drew her attention. She’d let Jeremy’s good looks hide the true man inside. Or maybe it wasn’t hiding—maybe she hadn’t been looking hard enough—purposely overlooking warning signs—avoidance of her family, his ambiguity toward faith.

  Yeah, the warning flags were up, but she hadn’t been paying attention.

  She had stopped braiding. Shaking off the thoughts, she finished the braid, tying the end with a strip of leather, its ends decorated with dangling turquoise beads, that her parents had picked up in Santa Fe.

  Her fingers closed around one of the shiny, blue beads. Turquoise—to the natives of the southwest—sky, water, bounty, security, protection.

  With a sigh, she picked up one of the more promising photos, and tried to refocus on it. It worked—for a moment.

  “The heart has its reasons of which reason knows nothing.”

  Unbidden, the Pascal quote floated through her mind, Hmm. Where had that come from? She hadn’t thought of it since college.

  Reason had to figure into everything she did now—she had a child to raise. She had to keep a clear head—reason—was essential.

  It was getting harder to reason away Hawk Matthews. His serious nature … his dark good-looks … was she just rebounding from Jeremy’s Scandinavian handsomeness?

  Or something much more.

  His words, “Straighten it out with Him, and leave me out of it,” came back to her as clear as if he were standing right in front of her. A fire burned deep in the man’s eyes. She’d had a glimpse of it then—and it was compelling. A light that came from inside. A light of truth.

  Truth.

  He’d confronted her with the truth in Suzanne’s cooler—the truth of the motivation behind her hatred of him. A truth she had been determinedly avoiding—deliberately focusing her hatred on him to avoid her real issues.

  There was much more to the man, so much more. She’d misjudged Hawk as wholly as she had misjudged Jeremy, but on a different level. Blasted by events of the past year, including Jeremy, she was more than willing to make Hawk a scapegoat.

  Consciously or subconsciously, it didn’t really matter. She’d slandered him all over town. How much pain had she inflicted on him? Lake groaned inwardly—almost physically sick remembering her comments.

  She needed help. Lake closed her eyes in a simple prayer. Help me set things right.

  Would she get the chance? Would she take the chance?

  With a sigh, she turned back to the proofs on the table about the same time the phone rang—Casey Crawford, her editor. Just checking in on how Timeframes was progressing.

  Lake shifted gears, pleased to tell her editor that the project was coming along, and should be wrapped up by the July eighteenth deadline. At least this part of her life was coming together. Once finished, fingers crossed, Timeframes, might give River and her breathing room financially. But that could be a year out yet and that was the best-case scenario.

  They chatted for a couple more minutes, clarifying a few formatting issues. Satisfied, Casey said she’s check back in a couple days. A busy woman, Casey was always direct, to the point. Lake appreciated that.

  She missed talking to her in person, though. It was easier to work with people in per
son. Had she made the right decision in moving to Montana? Time would tell. River seemed to be adjusting. He loved animals and the outdoors and had his good buddy in Zach, his friend from church and school.

  For that matter, Lake was discovering a dormant longing for the wilderness, that was springing to life with a little attention. Her parents found something here they could not forget. They’d spoken of returning to put permanent roots down and encouraged her to come along, but the draw of the city and its many distractions pulled her into its orbit.

  Now, another world was drawing her in. A world which intuition was telling her, might be more fulfilling. Definitely worth investigating at any rate.

  Her gaze drifted out the window and ran the length of white-capped lavender in the distance, settling on one particular mountain, and all its shadows. Could she find what she needed here? Would Harmony live up to its name?

  Figuring out just what it was she needed would be a start.

  Lake longed to get back out there. That morning, before the storm, had been thrilling. She’d never felt more alive. More grounded. A part of the earth and all its wonder.

  With thoughts of wildness adventure bouncing around her head, Hawk’s sign popped back into her mind. “Sign up - wilderness survival class - community college.”

  Best heed the advice. With a phone call, a few minutes and a small dent to her checking account, Lake enrolled in “Wilderness Survival 101”. Sounded fairly basic—just what she needed. Except for a few excursions with her parents, her photography experience was fairly an urban one. She looked through the open door to the storage room, its shelves packed with inherited camping equipment. The realization of how much she had counted on her parents to do prep work for outdoor shoots hit her.

  Lake sighed. Hawk Matthews was right. She needed training. If she intended to complete her parents’ tribute or follow in their footsteps, the class was more than a good idea, it could be a lifesaver.