Purgatory (Colorado series)
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Praise for Denise Moncrief
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
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Thank you for purchasing this publication of The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
Purgatory
by
Denise Moncrief
The Colorado Series, Book Two
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
Purgatory
COPYRIGHT © 2014 by Denise Moncrief
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: info@thewildrosepress.com
Cover Art by Kim Mendoza
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewildrosepress.com
Publishing History
First Crimson Rose Edition, 2014
Print ISBN 978-1-62830-186-1
Digital ISBN 978-1-62830-187-8
The Colorado Series, Book Two
Published in the United States of America
Praise for Denise Moncrief
“Ms. Moncrief not only kept me in suspense, she pulled me in and carried me from page one to the perfect conclusion.”
~Stephantois at Long and Short Reviews,
on EYE OF THE STORM
~*~
“Denise has written a story that is brilliantly constructed so the reader not only goes along for the ride, but feels every emotion this woman is having. Denise does a wonderful job of weaving the tale in such a way that when the book is finished you have to ask yourself...could that really happen?”
~Brenda Youngerman at Ponderings of an Author
on DECEPTIONS OF THE HEART
~*~
“Ms. Moncrief isn't afraid to make her characters suffer as she weaves together all the pertinent details in a tight, well-written plot.”
~Ingrid Michaels at Goodreads
on EYE OF THE STORM
Dedication
For my wonderful husband,
who first urged me to write
when I told him about this story idea.
Chapter One
During the off-season, guests rarely arrived at the Inn at Purgatory mid-day, so Chris Smith pulled the dog-eared, four-month-old People from beneath the counter and flopped it onto the polished wood surface in front of her. Her mind strayed. The lives of the rich and famous failed to impress her.
A swoosh of wind burst through the front door as a man entered the building. Dragging her attention away from the magazine, she turned to greet him. He hesitated for a fraction of a second as if to get his bearings before trudging through the lobby toward her. As soon as their eyes met, her words of welcome froze on her tongue and the pain began—flashes of light across her vision—tightness in her throat—intense, piercing sensations in her head. Panic and the desire to run soon followed.
She massaged her forehead, trying to rub away the stabbing pain that throbbed between her eyes, and then returned her attention to the man in front of her, pulling the computer keyboard toward her, determined to do her job despite the sudden fear gripping her insides.
She attempted her most professional tone. “Good morning. Welcome to the Inn at Purgatory. How can I help you?”
No response.
She glanced up at him. To her dismay, he presented all the indications of a panic attack. She recognized the signs well. His forehead glistened with tiny beads of sweat. The vein in his neck pulsed. Anxiety flashed in his eyes as he struggled with each new breath he took.
“Mister, are you all right?”
He braced against the counter and rubbed a hand over his face. “Yeah. It’s just…you look like someone I used to know.”
Chills ran down her spine. He wasn’t creepy, not in the least. On the contrary, she sensed an unmistakable connection to this stranger. She recoiled from the feeling, but nothing could have pried her eyes from his for a few brief, intense moments.
As the seconds ticked by and he offered no further explanation for his presence, she became uneasy and shifted from one foot to the other, the urge to flee escalating. Before she could press him once again to state his business, her world began to spin. A glimpse of her past flashed across her psyche, just a glimmer of light hitting something gold, but the vision left just as quickly as it came. She sucked in a deep breath, struggling to regain control physically, emotionally, and mentally.
As the adrenaline coursed through her veins, her subconscious insisted she run while her conscious mind demanded she stand firm. The overwhelming desire to escape the man’s bold stare assaulted her just as Claire returned from her break. Chris shot her co-worker an anxious frown and glanced at the man on the other side of the counter. A question danced in Claire’s eyes. Chris returned a small shake of her head.
The jangle of the telephone cut through the tension and made them all jump. She bolted and stumbled toward the safety of her office to take the call without excusing herself. She didn’t exit gracefully, but she didn’t care. When would she ever see him again? What was he to her?
****
Steve West tossed his overstuffed bag onto the low dresser and fell exhausted onto the king-size bed. The long, multi-jointed flight from Richmond to Durango wore him to his last ounce of patience. He disdained chartering a jet for his sole traveling comfort, preferring to fly commercial. Not that he couldn’t afford the upgrade. He could purchase anything he wanted. Anything material that is.
Some things money can’t buy.
The drive up the mountain to the Inn had proved pleasant, allowing him slow release of pent-up, nervous energy. He anticipated a successful trip and maybe a bit of relaxing activity. Southwest Colorado offered a few of his favorite pastimes.
But this trip promised more than success and pleasure.
He waited a few more moments before yanking his wallet from his back pocket and removing a well-worn picture. As always, the image of Carol clutched at his heart.
The woman at the front desk looked exactly like her. The straight, blonde hair. Bright intelligence sparkling in her blue eyes. The shape of her nose. The classic oval of her face. Hers was the same face that haunted his nightmares, the same face that stared through him with unfamiliar and lifeless eyes. He shook the awful vision from his mind.
Chris Smith. The woman’s name is Chris Smith. He had to find out who she
was, or more to the point, who she wasn’t.
He dialed a familiar number and braced for an argument. “What’s up?” Chuck answered before the first ring finished humming, almost as if the private investigator predicted Steve’s call.
“I want you to FedEx me your entire file on Carol.”
Chuck hesitated. “Why?”
“I saw her.”
He heard the exasperated expulsion of breath before the other man responded. He pictured Chuck’s huge gopher cheeks puffed out, expelling all his hot air in a single breath.
“When are you going to give this up?”
He absorbed the sting of Chuck’s criticism in every fiber of his being. “Just send the file.”
****
The nightmare exited and reentered her subconscious. Different from the flashback, the dream had more substance. It seemed so real, so vivid. When Chris awoke with a start, sweating and shaky, snatches of it remained with her.
Dwelling on the man’s strange behavior and bold stare must have prompted the dream. She didn’t want to think about him, but she did anyway, recalling the haunted expression in his eyes. His distress had matched hers, creating an enormous swell of nervous anticipation between them. That same desperate feeling clung to the remnants of the nightmare.
Yesterday, she assured herself she would never see him again. Now she wasn’t so sure. What will I do if I see him again? What if he’s here for an extended stay? He said I look like someone he knows. No, someone he used to know.
She attempted to sabotage the idea the man might be someone from her past. As much as she wanted to deny the thought, it slammed into her consciousness anyhow.
What if he is someone from my past, someone I’d rather not remember? What if I’m someone he used to know? Anyone who used to know me would be someone I don’t know anymore.
Her circular thinking frustrated her. She tossed an irritated growl into the still dark room. The pillow that promised rest last night had turned rock hard in the wee hours of the morning. She punched its dilapidated middle and the springy mattress beneath recoiled. Maybe it was time to buy a new pillow. Knowing she wouldn’t fall back into not-so-blissful slumber, she groaned and threw the comforter off.
Work did not appeal to her this morning, but without something to distract her, she would only let her mind wander in directions she didn’t want it to go. What would it matter if she arrived a few hours early? She could catch up on her mountains of paperwork.
****
When Chris arrived at work, she focused on the job, pushing thoughts of last night out of her mind. The daily routine soon consumed her.
A high-heeled distraction by the name of Claire bounded into the room. “Hey, girl. What’s up?”
“Just working.” Her short reply hinted at shattered concentration. The task in front of her beckoned. She had diverted her attention from this morning’s worries, and she didn’t want to go back to fretting.
Claire appeared oblivious to her hint and sat on the corner of her desk. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, sure. Why?” She tried to keep the annoyance out of her voice, refusing to give her co-worker attention and focusing her eyes on the desk in front of her.
“You left so quick last night I didn’t get a chance to ask you what that was all about.”
Chris leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “I don’t know.”
“I was trying to decide if you wanted me to call the sheriff.” Claire sounded like the prospect thrilled her.
“Oh, no. I don’t think he was dangerous. He just acted weird.” She puffed her bangs out of her eyes, trying to stall for an adequate explanation, one that would appease Claire’s curiosity. The truth tumbled out of her mouth. “He said I look like someone he knows…knew.”
“Really?” Excitement bubbled out of Claire. “So?”
“So…what?”
“Are you going to—”
“No.”
“Why not? What if he is someone you used to know? Don’t you want to know who he is?”
“I’m tired of being scrutinized by every brokenhearted person in the world who has a missing relative. It’s been five years. No one is looking for me. The man doesn’t know me. If he did, he would have said so. And I’m not sure I want to know him.”
“Aw, come on, Chris. That guy was hot. Wouldn’t you like to know him even if he isn’t someone from your past?” Claire’s wheedling tone punctured her calm. Yes, the man was good-looking, very easy on her eyes, but that wasn’t reason enough to pursue finding out about him.
No, she didn’t even want to know his name.
She was about to snap at Claire when the phone interrupted them. She listened for a moment and then hung up. “I have to deliver an order to the crew at the construction site.” Relief flooded her. She didn’t want to answer any more of Claire’s nosey questions. She had enough unanswered questions of her own without her friend dredging up a few more.
Chapter Two
During the short drive from the Inn, Chris passed the Purgatory trailhead and continued up the mountain toward the lifts at Durango Mountain Resort. As she turned onto the access road, she could see evidence of construction at the base of the main lift. Someone had occupied the small, temporary office at the site for almost four months.
When she pulled into the parking lot in front of the office, she switched off the radio. The boom and clang of construction equipment pounded her ears as she grabbed the heavy box from the front passenger seat. The smell of the Inn’s famous roast beef sandwiches filled her sinuses and reminded her she hadn’t had lunch yet. Her stomach grumbled in protest.
She knocked on the side of the building with sharp, staccato raps. The door popped open, revealing the man from last night, the source of her apprehension this morning. His unexpected appearance caused her to stumble and retreat a step.
Her presence obviously disturbed him, because his expression was a mixture of restrained panic and something else she couldn’t define.
“I have a food order for the work crew.” She shifted on the concrete steps, waiting for him to accept the box. He reached for the food, his intense gaze locking with hers. A shiver of nervous electricity ran down her spine and stopped at her toes.
His eyes were an incredible hue, an intense hazel with just a hint of green. However, something more than the color grabbed her and held her captive. He examined her with surgical precision, the same intense dissection as last night, and she wondered if he had a habit of scrutinizing people that way.
A fight or flight rush of adrenaline overwhelmed her and her hands began to shake. As she turned to leave, she bumped into Jeff Osborne, the site foreman. The collision broke the tension and released her from the other man’s penetrating scrutiny.
Without a backward glance, she retreated toward the safety of her car, running from the same unidentified fears that threatened her last night.
****
Seeing the man that morning upset Chris so much she didn’t eat all day. When she left work around four that afternoon, hunger rumbled in her stomach, so she stopped at a café down the highway in Hermosa to pick up a take-out of potato soup and cornbread muffins. As she waited at the counter, the hairs on the back of her neck bristled. Turning on her heel, she faced the stranger once again.
“Hi.” The sound of his voice jolted her, causing her skin to prickle. Her stomach dropped to her toes, a sensation similar to a free fall on a roller coaster.
“Hi.” She returned his greeting without thinking, backing away from his disturbing presence.
“You’re the woman from the Inn.” He moved a step closer.
“Yes.”
His eyes seemed to bore into hers as if peering straight into her soul. “Are you all right?” he asked after a long, intense examination.
Why did he ask that? Don’t I look all right? Why is he staring at me that way?
“I’m fine.” The words barely passed her lips. Panic surfaced once again. She turned away from him
and focused on nothing, not wanting him to know how much his scrutiny affected her.
Thoughts of escaping him tumbled around in her head, crashing against each other. Run, Chris. Run! She gripped the counter in front of her to keep from bolting out the door without her order. Her hand stuck in a pool of maple syrup left over from the morning’s breakfast crowd. She yanked her hand away and rubbed at the tacky residue. The clink of silverware on china battered her nervous system. She worried her lower lip, trying to keep her panic from spewing out all over the other diners.
The cashier nudged her. Without thinking, Chris opened her hand and accepted her change. Grabbing her food, she scurried out the door, glancing back only once at the crowded café as she crossed the parking lot.
Why did this man shake her to the core of her being? Although he didn’t seem threatening, she felt threatened. She was certain she wasn’t running from the man, but a foreboding dread of the unknown, a fear that sprang from the depths of her soul.
Chris drove straight to the LaPlata County Sheriff’s office. When she entered the building, she didn’t stop at the front desk. She just kept walking. The staff knew her and she knew where she was going. She didn’t even stop long enough to determine if Sheriff Brian Parker was in his office. It was after five, but he seldom left his office before seven.
“Brian—”
“What’s up?” He motioned her to take a seat without glancing up from his paperwork. The slanting rays of afternoon sunlight beamed through his window, adding a glow to the crown of his head, his brown hair gleaming with tinges of red-gold luster.
Wood chair legs screeched across white and black streaked vinyl flooring as she pulled closer to his desk. “I don’t know if this is anything to be concerned about.” She stalled, scrambling for the best way to define her trepidation.