argument from me. He wandered up here this spring, skin and bones.”
“He’s well fed now.” She ran her hands down his sides.
A throat cleared behind him. “Oops, sorry!” Ryan turned and motioned to the reporter and the cameraman.
Then he led the way into the cool office lobby. A faint scent of cedar greeted them from the genuine wood that lined the walls and floor.
Larry, one of the staff, looked up from behind the long reception counter and froze with his hand poised over calculator keys. “Did I space out some business interview we were supposed to do today?”
Ryan waved at him. “Personal. About…you know.”
Larry jerked a nod then went back to pecking at the machine. Ryan led his guests into his office, which looked out the side of the building nearest the guest parking lot.
“Not much for frills, are you?” Sam stood gazing around the room. “And I thought my office was bare.”
Ryan took fresh stock of his surroundings. An old metal desk, a bit scuffed and dented but serviceable, took up much of the floor space. A lone filing cabinet stood nearby, and a state-of-the-art computer center filled one corner. No artwork hung on the pale walls, just a plaque indicating membership in the local chamber of commerce. No photos or other personal memorabilia sat on the desk.
The nicest piece in the room was a rather crude oak gun case that he’d cobbled together in high school. It worked fine to hold his several shotguns and rifles, though. The only other item of interest was the view from the French doors behind his desk, and that showed only a small deck, the paved guest parking lot and a wall of trees beyond that.
Yeah, his world had gotten pretty stark. The fault of one devious killer, and Ryan meant to find out who that was.
“Let’s do the interview out there.” Hallie pointed toward the deck. “That will give us the outdoorsy feel without standing under the hot sun.”
“I’m game.” The deck offered a clear view of his boats and docks, as well as the access road to his property. He did as much of his paperwork as possible out there, listening to the wind ruffle through the pines that crowded his place.
Ryan opened the French doors, and soon he and the reporter stood on the end of the deck closest to the river. The camera would be able to take in the water and boats behind them. Sam perched on a bench built into the deck rail, out of range of the electronic eye. Ryan wiped his palms on his jeans and glanced at the reporter. “What would you like to know?”
She looked toward the camera. “You rolling, Stan?”
“Still getting the angle and focus,” he answered, fiddling with his lens.
“Could we have a quick practice run?” Ryan cleared his throat. “I’d kind of like to know what you’re going to ask.” And maybe take the edge off his gut reactions before the real deal.
“That’s fair.” Hallie nodded. “I’ll probably start out with something like this—It’s been ten years since you found your family shot dead in your home. In all this time, did you never suspect that they had all been murdered?”
“No, I didn’t.” He shook his head. “My dad was under unusual stress at work and not acting like himself. Besides, I was too busy blaming myself to take a closer look.”
“How could their deaths have been your fault?” Sam’s cry broke in. “You weren’t there.”
Her gaze riveted with Ryan’s. His face went hot and tense. “We had a major fight on the telephone that evening, my dad and I. I figured I broke his heart, and that was why I lost my family.” What was it about this woman? That was more than he’d ever told anybody.
Her lips molded into a soft O. “What a terrible way for things to end between you.” If he didn’t know better, he would have said she was seeing straight into his soul, just like the other night.
“It doesn’t matter now.” Ryan’s voice came out rough. “Whoever killed my mom, and my sister and my dad had better hide under the biggest rock he can find, because I won’t rest until I find out what happened. And why?”
Hallie’s shoulder moved between him and Sam. “What do you hope the discovery of the photos will accomplish?”
He returned his attention to the reporter. “New evidence means a fresh investigation that is bound to uncover facts that were never looked at before.”
“Anything specific you can share with us?”
“Let’s just say I’ve given the police access to—”
Brakes squealed and tires screeched. Ryan turned. The next client wasn’t due for twenty minutes…but this was no client. Yikes! None of those vehicles held clients. A Minneapolis Star Tribune newspaper van roared up the drive, followed by a Channel 11 TV truck, flanked by a St. Paul Pioneer Press car, jockeying for position. The whole world chased a scoop.
Hallie whirled toward Sam, who sat with mouth agape. “So do you want to wait around and be mobbed or get out of here?”
“But what about your interview?”
“If I know Stan the Man, he got it the first time.”
“Too right.” Grinning, the camera guy lowered his equipment from his shoulder.
Ryan glared from reporter to cameraman. All that personal stuff that popped out of his mouth had been caught on film? Wasn’t the cameraman supposed to wait for some kind of cue from the reporter?
Sam rose. “My car sits between the ones for the Press and the Trib. We’ll never make a getaway.”
“There’s a pickup in the back.” Hallie nodded toward Ryan. “Yours, right?”
“Wait a minute—”
“If you wait ten seconds, you’ll have a feeding frenzy, not an interview.” She pinned him beneath a pointed stare. “Go. Leave us. We’ll stay and thumb our noses at the competition.”
People were piling out of the vehicles in his public parking lot. It was hard enough to talk to one reporter about his family’s murder. If a mob of them got in his face, he’d probably slug somebody.
He met Sam’s beseeching gaze. “We’re outta here!”
Her teeth flashed as she grinned and headed for the French doors. “I’m with you.”
Ryan grabbed her hand, and they dashed inside through his office and out into the hallway behind the reception desk. “Circle the wagons!” he called to Larry, who gazed at them wide-eyed. “Don’t let them take you alive.”
A throaty laugh came from the woman next to him. Her warm hand in his, Ryan tugged her up the hall and out the back door, leaving his employee gaping after them. They piled into his gray Silverado, and he peeled out of the staff lot toward the gravel road that provided a second egress to the property.
“Where are we headed?” Sam turned toward him, flushed face alight.
He
