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“ ‘Good riddance’ is pretty much what we thought about it,” Myron grimaced. “Cassa, dammit. No one cares if he’s dead or not. No one cares and you shouldn’t either.”
“Why shouldn’t I? He’s not the first casuality here, Myron, and you know it. People are dying in the mountains here and no one seems to care.”
Myron stared at her silently for long moments. His expression flashed with such bitter pain that Cassa actually felt the hurt herself for a moment.
“People have always died in these mountains,” he finally said softly. “No one cared then either.”
Breeds had died here. The information she had stated, more than one had died here, and many had suffered at the hands of the Deadly Dozen, once they were captured.
“Why did Banks stay here?” she asked. “If what you say is true, then he couldn’t have had much peace.”
“He had what he wanted.” Myron shrugged. “His nice house on the hill, his guns and his hunting buddies. Banks didn’t give a damn about much else.”
“Did his hunting buddies give a damn about him?” Cassa moved closer to the warm car. The engine was still running; the warmth flowing from it eased the chill that raced over her on the outside.
Myron leaned against the car door as he turned to look at her.
“You’re not going to let it go, are you?” he asked.
Cassa grinned back at him. “You know better than that, Myron. Might as well help me.”
“You lost your senses somewhere,” he accused her. “Even I’m not following up on this story, Cassa. As much as I hated Banks, I’d still like the answers to what happened to him. But things happen here in these mountains, and a smart man knows when to back off.”
That internal reporter radar went off like a siren. The blood was suddenly pumping through her veins and curiosity was slamming in her head. Of course, that surge of adrenaline was causing other, less comforting sensations as well, but she could handle those for the time being.
“I don’t know of anyone who knows you that’s accused you of being smart when it came to backing off on a story, Myron,” she reminded him.
“Naw, Cassa, that was you,” he sighed.
Her lips parted to ask more questions when a black-and-white sheriff’s cruiser pulled into the parking lot on the other side of Myron’s car.
Cassa lifted her brows as Myron’s head lowered and another rough breath passed his lips.
What the hell was going on here and just how many people were involved in it?
She watched as the sheriff, an older female, stepped out of the cruiser and settled her official hat on her head.
Danna Lacey. At forty-five years old, her short black and gray hair framed her slender face and emphasized her dark green eyes.
“Myron, how are you doing?” The sheriff’s eyes were curious as her gaze went between Myron and Cassa.
“I’m doing fine, Danna,” he stated with a tinge of mockery as the sheriff moved around the car. “You?”
She nodded slowly, her gaze staying on Cassa now.
“Doin’ good. I noticed your car over here and thought I’d stop by and let you know that Patty was looking for you earlier.”
Myron frowned at that, as he pulled his cell free of his jacket pocket and flipped it open. “She didn’t call.”
Danna’s smile was a bit rueful. “She lost her cell phone again, Myron. She’s at the diner. I told her I’d let you know if I saw you.”
Myron rolled his eyes. His expression was a cross between impatience and impotence.
“Time for me to go.” He opened the car door as Cassa straightened from the car and glanced back at him. “Tell your Bengal hello from me, Cassa. Make sure I get an invite to the joining, wedding or whatever the hell they’re calling it this month.”
The reference to the different titles given to mating ceremonies had a frown flashing across Cassa’s face. There was a hint of knowledge in Myron’s tone that shouldn’t be there. As though he knew more about the ceremonies, and the joining, than he should.
“Yeah, I’ll make sure to make a note of that,” she promised mockingly, as he got into the car and slid it smoothly into gear.
