the waitress was wiping down the surface with a clean rag.
She looked up with a weary smile as Jack stopped in front of her. “Can I get you something else?”
“Actually I could use some directions. I have an old friend who works here in Purgatory at a place called The Gates—ever heard of it?”
“Sure, everybody has. Your friend one of the investigators?”
“Right.” He searched his brain for the name Riley had mentioned. “Sutton Calhoun.”
“Oh, he’s such a nice guy. Real good-lookin’, too.” Darlene’s cheeks grew pink and she shot Jack a sheepish smile. “His wife’s a cop over in Bitterwood. They come in now and then.”
“I thought I’d surprise him at the office, since he doesn’t know I’m in town. Can you point me in the right direction?”
“Well, you’re on the right street, actually. Just take a right when you leave, go a couple of blocks in that direction and you’ll see a big white Victorian mansion right at the corner of Magnolia Street and Laurel Avenue. There’s a pair of large iron gates at the entrance. Can’t miss it.”
Riley and Hannah met him at the door. “What are you planning to do?” Riley asked.
“I don’t know,” Jack admitted. “Approaching her directly didn’t do me a lot of good.”
“I hate to mention this,” Hannah said quietly, “but you’re starting to sound a little stalkerish.”
Jack slanted a look at her. “I’m not obsessed with Mara.”
“But you’re about to track her down at her office after she told you to get lost,” Riley pointed out as he picked up Cody and settled his son on his hip. “She doesn’t even seem to remember that you nicked seven grand from her. Maybe you should just let it go, too.”
“And that doesn’t strike you as strange? That she’s forgotten losing seven grand? Mara wasn’t rich. Seven thousand dollars was a lot to her.”
“Maybe she considers it a small price to pay for getting you out of her life.” Riley’s tone of voice was gentle, but the truth behind his words was harsh. Jack couldn’t quite keep from flinching.
“Why don’t you come out fishing with us this afternoon instead?” Hannah suggested. Apparently she’d gotten over her matchmaking urge.
“You know, I think I’ll just wander around town this afternoon. See the sights.”
Riley glanced around the sleepy street in front of them, his eyebrows notching upward. “What sights?”
“Go fish,” Jack said firmly, heading for his truck. “I’ll catch up with you later at the motel.” He didn’t wait for them to answer, sliding into the cab of the truck and starting the engine.
The radio was tuned to a rock station out of Knoxville; Led Zeppelin’s “Kashmir” was about halfway through the guitar and drum riff. He turned it up and pulled out into the light traffic on Magnolia Street, heading right.
He spared a glance in the rearview mirror. Riley and Hannah stood by their own truck, Cody still on Riley’s hip. Jack felt like a jerk for bailing on them, but the truth was, he didn’t want to be talked out of approaching Mara Jennings one more time.
He owed her a hell of a lot more than the seven thousand dollars with interest he’d taken from her.
But money was all he had to offer.
* * *
SHE USUALLY WORKED until five, but around three Quinn told her to take the rest of the day off. He could probably tell she was too wired to be any good to anyone at the agency, and she could always use the extra time at her cabin to work on the side project Quinn had given her.
It was why she was working at The Gates in the first place.
The mild afternoon warmth had abated with the arrival of storm clouds brewing in the west, and a crisp chill edged the breeze blowing at her back as she crossed the road to where she’d parked her little blue Mazda car. At least the car’s interior was still warm; she snuggled into the seat as she pulled away from the curb and headed east toward the mountains and the cabin she rented on Deception Lake.
She’d thought the seclusion would be just what she needed. No nosy neighbors, no loud music coming from apartments next door. Deception Lake’s power grid seemed stable, and her connection to the internet was solid. It was really the prime situation for her side project, and until she’d run into Jack Drummond at the diner, she had felt relatively safe.
Funny how one unexpected encounter from the past could knock your whole world off its axis.
The cabin was on the eastern edge of the lake, butted up to Fowler Mountain, where bigger houses dotted the mountain face, vacation homes and rentals that probably brought in a pretty penny for the landowner. She was renting from Alexander Quinn himself, however, so he’d given her a break on the rent in return for her putting in some hours as an assistant at The Gates.
That was her cover story, she knew. Quinn didn’t always like to share information even with people he had trusted enough to hire.
She parked her car on the gravel drive outside the cabin and cut the engine, sitting in the ensuing silence and just listening. Later in the summer, there would be families out on the water or inhabiting the cabins farther along the lakeshore, their happy cries and laughter drifting over the water to encroach on the quiet. But not yet. March was too cool for swimming, and most of the best spring fishing could be found in other parts of the lake, so boats rarely made it this far down the water.
Nobody knew she was here. She was as safe as she’d ever been.
So why, when she stepped out of the car and started toward the low front porch of the cabin, did she feel as if she were being watched?
Don’t be stupid, she scolded herself with an upward tilt of her chin. You’re Mara Caroline Jennings, and you don’t attract crazies the way your sister, Mallory, did.
She reached the porch and put her hand out to open the door.
But it was already opening.
A man dressed in dark forest camouflage stepped out on the porch and pushed a large pillowcase down over her head, wrapping her up in a tight grasp that squeezed the air right out of her lungs.
As she gasped for breath, trying feebly to struggle against the iron grip, she realized with a rush of fear that she’d never get away from Mallory Jennings, no matter how far she ran.
Jack kept several car lengths back as he followed Mara Jennings out of town onto a winding rural road leading eastward, toward the mountains. They were still mostly in the foothills here in Purgatory, and for a man who’d grown up with the Grand Teton Mountains practically in his backyard, the softly rounded peaks of the Smoky Mountains might have seemed a letdown if it weren’t for the fact that the whole area was hilly and lush green, even in March before the spring growth had had a chance to bud completely.
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