Murder at Sunrise Lake

These two men were her friends. They were a large part of the life in their community and she knew they were at risk. She hadn’t thought in terms of any of her friends being at risk. When that realization hit her, she could barely breathe for a moment. She leaned against the driver’s-side door and stared at the two men as they peacefully fished in the beauty of the lake. It was so beautiful there with the colors of the sun and reflections on the surface of the water. The shimmering silver of the mist creeping in, and the fall brilliance of the leaves, oranges, reds and greens decorating the trees. The men would never suspect, for one moment, that danger lurked beneath the surface.

Her vision blurred. Bailey pressed his head tight against her hip, and she sank her hand into his fur, reaching back with the other to grip the door. What in the hell was happening to her? A full-blown panic attack? She hadn’t had those in years. Just like shoving her fingers against her lips or rocking, she was regressing back to all those childhood habits, but the realization that these two really good men could be at risk was horrifying. Sam fished as well. Most of the men in her circle fished.

“Stella, come here, babe. Just sit down. You need to breathe.” Denver wrapped his arm around her and walked her to a camp chair.

She took a deep, shuddering breath as she sank into the chair and managed to drag fresh air into her laboring lungs. “I’m okay, Denver.”

He must have tossed his fishing pole and come running. That would be like him, to notice someone in trouble. He was the hospital’s anesthesiologist. Dr. Denver Dawson, nicest man on the planet, although his rough exterior put many people off. Make that women. She’d seen it dozens of times. Silly women always went for the smooth charmers, the players, and then they cried when their hearts were broken.

Denver crouched beside the chair, one hand automatically petting Bailey, the other with his fingers over her pulse. That was the other thing about Denver. He could be all business, but he never failed to recognize the animals around him. He might hunt and fish, but he ate what he killed.

“I didn’t make you lose your fishing pole, did I?” Stella tilted back her head to look up at him. “And you don’t happen to have any coffee, do you? I’m sure I was a little faint from lack of caffeine. I really need to put it directly into my veins.”

“I wasn’t about to lose my favorite fishing pole,” he said, standing and ruffling her hair as if she were five. “You drink far too much caffeine and I’m not sure I should contribute to your addiction.”

“I get grumpy without caffeine, Denver. Even Bailey doesn’t like me.” She didn’t want him thinking too much about her panic attack or asking her questions. He would too. Unlike Sam, who had no problem with long silences and rarely asked questions, Denver would get all up in her business. He never seemed to see the barriers she put up, but then he didn’t see them with others either. She was certain he was somewhere on the spectrum— a brilliant man with autism, most likely Asperger’s, although clearly he was extremely high functioning.

He flashed her a grin and jogged over to the gray-and-green truck. Stella watched him go, a little frown on her face. His body was all muscle, much like many of the men who lived and worked in the area. They were climbers, outdoorsmen, backpackers and skiers, and they kept in shape out of necessity for what they loved to do. Denver had a great body. Very muscular. She’d noticed that before, but for some reason, the way he was moving, it was very apparent to her all over again. Still, even built as he was, that wouldn’t keep him safe from a killer lurking beneath the lake’s surface.

She scrubbed her palm down her face, trying to think. Could she ask the two men not to go fishing for a few days because she’d had a bad dream? That would make her sound like a lunatic. How could she protect her friends? Her mind raced and her stomach churned. Bailey pushed against her. Her dog always knew when she was upset.

Denver was back with a mug of coffee and another camp chair under his arm. “I stole Bruce’s chair. I’m not even certain he knows you’re here. When he’s fishing, I think a bomb could go off and he wouldn’t know it.”

She wrapped her hands around the warmth of the coffee mug. There was a moose with wide antlers on the mug. “It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?”

Denver glanced up at the sky and then his gaze moved slowly over the lake. “Yeah. Nothing like it anywhere else, Stella.”