claimed to have answers, which she took to mean information about what had happened on that stormy night so long ago. Obviously, from the disarray, someone had searched the motel room, looking for the information that must have played into Granger’s death.
Lillie pulled in a deep breath to calm her runaway pulse. As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she stepped toward the duffel bag. After rifling through the contents, she opened the dresser drawers. Her fingers rested briefly on the Gideon Bible. Lord, let me find the truth.
Granger claimed he had never known her mother and had had nothing to do with her death. Not that Lillie was sure she believed him. Easy enough to beg forgiveness after the fact.
“Go back to bed, child.”
Yet Granger’s voice wasn’t the one she heard in her dreams. Nor was his face the one that returned to haunt her with each passing storm.
Knowing it was only a matter of time before the Freemont police or the muscular CID agent from Fort Rickman found where Granger had been staying, she tugged on the closet door.
A man stood shadowed in the recesses.
Her heart exploded in her chest. She screamed.
Turning to flee, her foot caught on the leg of the bed. She lost her balance.
“Lillie.”
Hands reached for her, easing the fall. He took the brunt of the blow as they both crashed to the floor.
She kicked, heard him groan and kicked again.
He pinned her down, the weight of his legs impeding her movement. “I won’t hurt you.”
She screamed again.
He covered her mouth with his hand. His breath warmed her cheek.
“Lillie, stop.” His voice was low, insistent.
She bit his hand.
“Augh,” he groaned. “Listen.”
Sirens sounded in the distance.
“The police are coming. You don’t want them to find you here.”
Reason tangled through her fear as she recognized Dawson’s voice.
“I’m going to let you go. Leave the room. Take the back road out of the motel. Meet me at the truck stop one exit north on the highway. We need to talk.” His hand eased up ever so slightly. “Do you understand?”
She nodded.
He drew away from her and stood.
Scampering to her feet, Lillie raced for the door and threw it open. Light filtered into the darkness. She turned, seeing the special agent bend down and pick up something from the rug.
Dawson Timmons was a fool to think she would meet him anywhere except at military police headquarters on post.
“You dropped something.” The key dangled from his hand.
The sirens screamed in the distance. Not much time to get away.
“Meet me at the truck stop,” he said again. “We can share information.”
The police would never understand how she had known about the motel room and why she had been there with the CID agent. Leaving the parking lot, she headed out the back way.
On the phone, Granger had said he’d been framed. At the time, she hadn’t wanted his excuses to buy her sympathy. Now she wasn’t sure about anything or anyone, especially the special agent who seemed to be one step ahead of her.
General Cameron had spoken highly of the Criminal Investigation Division on post. A number of big cases had been solved over the past few years because of their hard work. That’s why she had felt comfortable sharing her story tonight with the special agent.
Now she wondered if she could trust him. How had he known about the motel room? Could he have been one of the people Granger claimed had framed him? If so, Dawson was the last person Lillie should meet. Yet, he now had the key that might unlock information about her mother’s disappearance.
Lillie needed to be smart and careful, which meant having something to hold over Dawson’s head if things got ugly. Grabbing her phone, she dialed her private line at work that hooked into the voice mail she checked each morning as soon as she arrived at her desk.
If something happened to her, General Cameron’s aide would eventually review the messages. “This is Lillie Beaumont,” she said once the call transferred to voice mail.
She glanced at the clock on her dash. “It’s four-thirty a.m. I’m on my way to the truck stop at the exit north of town to meet CID Special Agent Dawson Timmons concerning Granger Ford’s death. If something should happen to me, question Agent Timmons.”
Years earlier her mother had disappeared on a stormy night. She glanced at the leaves and branches strewn across the road. Meeting Dawson could put her own life in danger.
A shiver slipped down her spine. Lillie had to ensure that she wouldn’t disappear on this stormy night like her mother.
THREE
Dawson parked on the far side of the truck stop where his car wouldn’t be seen from the interstate. Quickly pulling out the wax kit he kept in his glove compartment, he made a mold of Lillie’s key. Later, if need be, he could make a duplicate.
Leaving his car, he rounded to the front of the one-story stucco building and glanced at the few cars driving along the highway, their lights cutting through the darkness. The rain had stopped, but a wind blew from the west. He rubbed his bare hands together as he approached the all-night diner and peered through the large windows. Standing behind the counter, a waitress poured coffee for two husky guys in parkas.
Dawson wiped his feet on the doormat, frustrated by the damp cold that gnawed at the old gunshot wound to his leg. He thought of the investigation that had left him injured, hating the ever-present limp and accompanying pain.
Stepping inside, Dawson unsnapped his windbreaker and nodded to the waitress, who raised a pot of coffee. He held up two fingers and pointed to the booth where Lillie sat. She watched him approach the table and slide into the seat across from her.
“Thanks for meeting me,” he said, adding a smile to counter her frosty glare.
“You have something that belongs to me,” she said in lieu of a greeting.
The waitress approached with two mugs she quickly filled. “You folks want breakfast?”
“Coffee’s fine.” Lillie dumped a packet of sweetener and a significant amount of cream into her mug.
“Two eggs over easy, hash browns, sausage and biscuits.” Dawson eyed Lillie. “You like grits?”
“Of course, but—”
“Make that two orders with grits.”
The waitress scurried back
