bake scones?”
She smiled. “I baked them in my sleep.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“They’re my mom’s. She’s always trying to outbake her friend Caroline, who owns the Port Whisper Inn.”
His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he pulled away from the curb. “Thanks, I’ll have mine when we get to the P.D.”
“You didn’t really sit outside my apartment all night, did you?”
“Not all night.”
No, Garrett stopped by his former mother-in-law’s place early this morning, hoping to get the awkward encounter over with. No one answered when he knocked, which seemed odd since she ran an inn out of her home. Maybe she didn’t have any guests.
More likely she saw him from an upstairs window and chose not to open her door. He couldn’t blame her. There was too much history there, too much pain.
“You okay?” Lana asked.
“Yep.”
He’d be better once she gave a description to the sketch artist and Garrett could get traction on this case.
“I may not study people for a living, but I’m going to make an educated guess that you’re really not okay,” she said.
“I’m tracking a serial killer.”
“No, it’s something else.”
How on earth was this woman able to read him so easily? Not good. Garrett prided himself on being able to keep the ugly corners of his mind private, hidden, even from his own team.
“I’m tired. Didn’t get much sleep,” he said.
“I’m sorry.”
He cast her a sideways glance. “It’s not your fault.”
“You were sleeping in your car because of me.”
“Partly, and partly because I didn’t have time to get a room. So, how about loading up a scone on a napkin for me?” he said to divert her.
Truth was, he shouldn’t have slept outside her place, but something was nagging at him. And not just her captivating golden-green eyes.
She reached into the bag and grabbed a scone with a pale blue napkin. When she handed it to him, his fingers brushed against her soft and delicate hand. He snapped up the scone and took a bite.
“You know where to turn?” she said.
He swallowed. “Yep.”
“Is it too dry?”
“What?” He turned onto Third Street.
“The scone?”
“It’s perfect.”
Like the woman sitting next to him. Whoa, he was suffering from a serious case of sleep deprivation. Regardless that she seemed pretty perfect—strong, confident and beautiful—Garrett wasn’t in the market, not now, nor in the foreseeable future. Not as long as he worked for the BAU.
She pulled out a scone for herself. As they drove through town, he realized they must look like a couple eating in companionable silence on their way to work. He placed his scone on the console and sipped his coffee.
“How long do you think the meeting with the sketch artist will take?” she asked.
“Depends on you, I guess. Why?”
“I’m supposed to take a tour group out to the island.”
“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to cancel your tours for a few days. It’s still a crime scene.”
“Oh, right. I’d better notify my customers.” She pulled out her phone.
Was the killer scheduled to be on Lana’s tour boat today? No, now Garrett was completely drifting off course. Red Hollow was about kidnapping, demanding ransom and killing very specific victims: aggressive, domineering men. He didn’t randomly choose victims so there was no reason for Lana to be in personal danger.
Unless Red Hollow considered her a threat.
Garrett pulled into the police parking lot and spotted a familiar car. Georgia must have brought the sketch artist. Garrett hoped she left the rest of the team back in Tacoma to work the case. There was no reason to relocate to Port Whisper until they knew for sure they were dealing with Red Hollow.
As they approached the door, a teenage girl with flushed cheeks raced up to them. “Lana! He’s gone. I’ve been texting all night, and he hasn’t answered and—”
“Shhh, calm down, Ashley.” She motioned to Garrett. “This is Agent Drake.”
“Hi,” Ashley croaked, turning her attention back to Lana. “Sketch is missing and I’m afraid he did something stupid, like try to find out who killed that guy and—”
“Hold on, take a deep breath.” Lana placed her hands on Ashley’s shoulders and they both took a deep breath together, then another. “Okay, start from when you guys got home last night.”
“We went to Sketch’s house and my parents came over and talked with his gran about the dead guy. My dad said he heard that an FBI Agent named Drake was at the scene, and everyone started freaking out that the killer is local and his gran was really upset and Sketch said not to worry, that he’d protect her, and she, like, flipped out and ran upstairs. We left, but Sketch texted me later and said he was going to find the killer.”
“How was he going to do that?” Garrett asked.
“I don’t know. Go back to the scene? Check out security footage?”
“How could he get access to security footage?”
“He’s a computer genius,” Lana offered. “He can find anything, anywhere, online.”
“In other words, he’s a hacker,” Garrett said.
“He’s helped the local police with cases,” Lana argued. “You can ask Morgan.”
Great, what Garrett didn’t need was a complication in the form of a meddling teenager. “I’m sorry, Ashley, but Lana needs to meet with a sketch artist for the murder case. She’ll have to help you find your friend when she’s done.”
Lana squeezed the girl’s hands. “Did you call his grandmother?”
“No one’s answering.”
“She goes for her morning walk around this time. Try her in half an hour, okay?”
The girl nodded, but still looked shaken.
“I’m sure he’s fine,” Lana said. “He probably fell asleep at the pier and that’s why he isn’t returning your texts. He’s done that
