don’t have a while. And I’m not kidding. I’m not leaving here without five grand.”
Clancy darted a look at his son who’d remained silent. And then the old guy sort of smiled, attempting some of that charm he’d used to sucker her into revitalizing his restaurant. “Bret?” Despite his silly grin, his voice quivered on the brink of panic. “Don’t let her near the fireplace poker.”
Bret stretched out his leg, rubbed a hand over his thigh and winced. “I don’t know as I could stop her, Pop.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” she said. “How would I get my money that way? I’m just going to haunt you and threaten you and make your life miserable until I get every last cent.”
Clancy turned his hands up on the table. “I don’t know how...”
Bret rose slowly, as if even that simple movement pained him. He took a few steps toward a doorway that led from the room. “Pop, can I see you in the kitchen?”
“Sure thing.” Clancy stood and strode after his son, moving so fast that Dorie could only conclude that he was grateful to be anywhere but in the same room as her.
“Don’t even think about going out a back door,” she called after him. “You won’t get very far in the dark on this mountain. And I can run faster than you.”
Bret stood in the entry, his hand on the door. “Don’t worry. I’ll bring him back.”
She believed him. In fact, she was dangerously close to putting too much faith in this younger Donovan. He had that kind of face a person could trust, though she saw now that it wasn’t a perfect face. His complexion was ruddy from mountain winds. His eyes were crinkled at the corners from the accumulation of his life experiences, many of which Dorie suspected had been hard, especially knowing his father. Strangely, these imperfections only gave a sense of solid strength to him she could identify with.
She could imagine him assuming a commanding stance whether he was talking with his father or a suspect. Yes, with his legs braced, his shoulders back and his penetrating gaze on a person’s face, he could convince anyone to do the right thing. At least Dorie hoped so.
“We’ll be back,” Bret said. He watched his father slink into the kitchen. “And then I may just turn him over to you and a couple of hungry black bears.”
CHAPTER THREE
ALONE IN THE ROOM, Dorie wondered what she was going to do if she couldn’t squeeze five thousand dollars out of these two men. Bret must have some money, especially if he owned this entire piece of property. She allowed herself to hope that he would bail his father out of this jam.
She stifled a yawn and shook her head to clear her mind. Her brain was fuzzy from lack of sleep. She hadn’t eaten anything since this morning except for a candy bar she’d bought at the convenience store. Her bones ached from sitting behind the wheel for hours. Her emotions were frayed beyond what should have been normal even considering the abundance of stress in her life lately.
Before leaving Winston Beach seven hours ago, she’d spent most of the morning at the attorney’s office, trying to convince him to keep working on Jack’s case. Counting on finding Clancy, she’d promised the lawyer more money soon and had finally extracted a promise from him that he would pass along the paperwork he’d accumulated to a new associate in the firm who would “revisit” the facts of the case and see what he could do. Dorie hadn’t met the associate, a man named Eric Henderson, but she had to accept Mr. Schreiber’s recommendation that this new attorney was clever and hardworking. Not to mention expensive. Waiting to hear from him only added more anxiety to an already-troubling day.
She got up from the picnic table and rolled her shoulders to relieve tension that had left a dull ache in her neck. She walked around the room and tried to concentrate on details of the basically Spartan environment. Besides the pair of picnic tables, which took up much of the center of the space, there was one long, dark pine buffet table along the wall that flanked the kitchen door. The fireplace, almost large enough for two men to squat inside, filled much of the opposite wall. A comfortable pine-framed sofa and pair of chairs faced the fireplace, and a flat-screen television was mounted above it.
One of the longer walls consisted mostly of windows which looked out on the screened porch. The opposite wall was lined with pine shelving. The scent of freshly milled wood was still strong in the room, suggesting the shelves were new. There was a state-of-the-art computer on a corner table.
The ambiance of the room was masculine but peaceful, an homage to simplicity and nature. She breathed deeply, attempting to infuse her body with the tranquility of her surroundings even though there was nothing tranquil about her life now. And, as it turned out, nothing simple about what she’d come here to accomplish.
She returned her focus to the door, walked closer and tried to hear what the men were saying. Clancy’s low, guttural mumbling was easy to identify. Dorie couldn’t tell what he was saying, but his muffled words seemed argumentative.
The steady timbre of Bret’s voice was just as distinctive as his father’s but for a different reason. She wasn’t able to make out the specifics, but Bret seemed to be countering his father’s grumbling with rationality.
She exhaled slowly and leaned against the door frame. She wanted to believe that Bret would devise a plan to pay her back, but her instincts warned her to remain wary. Even so, hope began a slow, steady battle with her skepticism.
Her thoughts backtracked to when they had all entered the lodge. Bret had removed his mackinaw, hung it on a rack by the door, along with the Marlins baseball cap he’d been wearing. Maybe his cap was from Florida, but he seemed much more at home in this rugged, harsh climate.
Dorie twisted so her shoulder was against the door, her ear close to one of the dark-stained panels. The conversation inside seemed to have reached a lull, prompting her to put even more faith in Clancy’s son. If he was reasonable, she could be, as well. She wouldn’t fall into the trap of judging all police officers by the few who’d treated Jack with such overt prejudice. That would be no more justified than watching cops judge her brother by the standards of all troubled teens.
Yes, Bret would make this right. He would understand that his father had cheated her and, recognizing that their family honor was at stake, very well might assume responsibility for paying her the money his father owed. In a few minutes, with five thousand dollars in her pocket, Dorie could be on her way back to Winston Beach.
* * *
BRET PACED. It’s what he’d done back when he was on the Dade County homicide division and all the clues had been there, in front of his eyes, and he hadn’t been able to put them together. It’s what he did now when he was worried about his son, Luke, and wondered if the decision he’d made for both of them was the right one. It’s what he did when he thought of Miranda and how he could have saved her if only...
Clancy sat at the kitchen table, his hands folded, his gaze fixed on his son. They’d discussed and argued the details of the debt, and Clancy had admitted his guilt.
“Look, Bret, I know how you must be feeling. I screwed up again. I get that. When I’m able to put a few bucks in my pocket, the old demon comes back, and I just have to risk it on the bigger payoff.”
“How many times are we going to have this conversation, Pop?”
“This
