Читать онлайн книгу «In The Arms Of The Enemy» автора Carol Ericson

In The Arms Of The Enemy
Carol Ericson
As a lawman, he knew she had secrets. Ones that could bust his case wide open.Tasked with finding a mysterious murder suspect, DEA Agent Cole Pierson was in Timberline on a mission. He didn’t need distractions like the lovely Caroline Johnson. Though he didn't think she could be his suspect, she was clearly hiding something and her safety became Cole’s top priority.She’d awoken next to a dead man, her memory gone. When “Caroline” had come to the small town looking for answers, she hadn’t counted on meeting Cole. He offered the protection she so desperately needed. But if he found out she’d been lying, that he’d become involved with a suspect, it would mean the end to any future–or happiness–she had imagined.


As a lawman, he knew she had secrets. Ones that could bust his case wide open.
Tasked with finding a mysterious murder suspect, DEA agent Cole Pierson was in Timberline on a mission. He didn’t need distractions like the lovely Caroline Johnson. Though he didn’t think she could be his suspect, she was clearly hiding something and her safety became Cole’s top priority.
She’d awoken next to a dead man, her memory gone. When “Caroline” had come to the small town looking for answers, she hadn’t counted on meeting Cole. He offered the protection she so desperately needed. But if he found out she’d been lying, that he’d become involved with a suspect, it would mean the end to any future—or happiness—she had imagined.
With shaking hands, she unzipped her bag and reached inside for Cole’s wallet.
Cole stared back at her from a California driver’s license. He hadn’t lied about being a California boy. Ignoring the cash in the billfold, she jammed her fingers into the slot behind his license and pulled out a stack of cards.
The gold-embossed letters on the top card blurred before her eyes and she slid down the length of the door until she was crouching against it.
Cole Pierson was a DEA agent, and he must be looking for the woman he believed murdered Johnny Diamond and stole his drug money.
He was looking for her.
In the Arms of the Enemy
Carol Ericson


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
CAROL ERICON is a bestselling, award-winning author of more than forty books. She has an eerie fascination for true-crime stories, a love of film noir and a weakness for reality TV, all of which fuel her imagination to create her own tales of murder, mayhem and mystery. To find out more about Carol and her current projects, please visit her website at www.carolericson.com (http://www.carolericson.com), “where romance flirts with danger.”
CAST OF CHARACTERS (#ulink_e2e0aff0-798e-5934-a4cf-d96957fbcc5c)
Caroline Johnson—A woman with no memory, no ID and a dead body in her motel room, “Caroline” finds herself at the center of drug trafficking and a twenty-five-year-old kidnapping.
Cole Pierson—A DEA agent whose longtime quarry winds up dead at the hands of a mysterious female. His quest for the suspect leads him to Caroline, but he can’t determine if she’s a killer or an innocent woman caught up in events beyond her control.
Johnny Diamond—This drug dealer’s death by poisoning sets off a chain of events that will result in the culmination of an explosive case of kidnapping and drug trafficking.
Linda Gunderson—Her loyalty to Caroline is based on a lie, but she stands beside her new friend in the face of increasing danger.
Dr. Jules Shipman—This therapist wants to help her new patient, Caroline, regain her memories, but someone doesn’t want Dr. Shipman to do her job.
Rocky Whitecotton—A member of the Quileute tribe, this rebel bucked the traditions of his people twenty-five years ago when he turned to drug dealing for a nefarious purpose and now he needs Caroline to keep her mouth shut—or he’ll shut it for her.
Jason Foster—A Quileute whose uncle ran with Rocky in the old days, he’s going to have to decide where his loyalties lie or pay the price.
James Brice—The brother of Heather Brice, one of the Timberline Trio, returns to Timberline to settle some family business.
The Timberline Trio—Kayla Rush, Stevie Carson and Heather Brice were snatched from Timberline twenty-five years ago. The truth of their disappearance will rock Timberline.
For all my SHS friends
Contents
Cover (#uaa07ff02-9b4a-5dd6-90be-a557531b5f9d)
Back Cover Text (#u5944ece6-5353-56ee-8077-4bb22c70170f)
Introduction (#u2e538f3e-628e-57c4-9b21-d8158a43b818)
Title Page (#u7d454cfd-ae0b-5420-b749-a158eaaf7f13)
About the Author (#u67539642-0483-5b52-a9c6-e3eeb21f65c4)
CAST OF CHARACTERS (#ulink_83bfbd83-2d4e-5eab-973c-9ed562e85b3b)
Dedication (#ucf358176-85c4-5d46-8f02-069547762f6c)
Chapter One (#ulink_f02b641f-aba9-5880-b4c7-84dc5f089331)
Chapter Two (#ulink_b352a50a-d5be-53c7-8965-3f4880689b91)
Chapter Three (#ulink_8eb8d136-9e90-57b4-8046-861a6bfa3bac)
Chapter Four (#ulink_2fa426db-672c-5083-a4a7-362a70370bb1)
Chapter Five (#ulink_7914a65d-d453-5571-94ff-c816219cef6e)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_99e66ffc-a8e9-552e-80d4-c6500ccfd3c5)
Her head throbbed as she stared at the dead guy. He had to be dead. She zeroed in on his chest, watching for the rise and fall of his breathing. Nothing.
Dried foam clung to his parted lips and chin in silvery trails, clinging to his beard like gossamer spiderwebs. His open, bloodshot eyes bugged out from their sockets like those of a surprised cartoon character.
She checked the carpet around his body—no blood, no weapon, just a plastic water bottle on its side with a quarter of its contents still inside.
She sat back on her heels and massaged her temples, which now throbbed as much as the back of her head. What had happened in this cheap motel room? Who was he?
Who was she?
A sob bubbled in her throat. That terror had slammed into her head-on before she even saw the body on the floor, when she’d come to, lying diagonally across the bed, fully clothed. She’d put that problem on the back burner when she noticed the dead guy, but a complete memory loss couldn’t be ignored forever.
There had to be a clue to her identity somewhere. She rose to her feet, her gaze sweeping the room, with its upended lamp, disheveled double bed and cracked picture frame above that bed.
The dead man hadn’t gone down without a fight. With her? Had she killed this man in a fight?
She took in his large frame sprawled on the threadbare carpet and shook her head. Hard to believe. But then maybe—she glanced at her toes, painted with pale pink polish—she was some ninja amazon woman.
A hysterical laugh crackled through the room and she clapped a hand over her mouth. She didn’t like the sound of that laugh. Wrapping her arms around her midsection, she tiptoed toward the open door of the bathroom. She held her breath and flicked the light switch with her knuckle.
At least no more dead bodies greeted her. She shuffled toward the chipped vanity and slowly raised her head to face the mirror.
She gasped. Leaning forward, she traced the outline of a red spot forming high on her cheekbone, beneath her right eye. Then she rubbed the painful area on the back of her head, her fingers circling a huge lump. Had she and the man gotten into a brawl?
She stepped back, studying the fine-boned face in the mirror, a slim column of a neck and a pair of narrow shoulders encased in a flimsy T-shirt. That slip of a thing that stared back at her with wide eyes couldn’t have taken down a kitten, never mind a full-grown man.
She bit her bottom lip and winced. She hunched forward and dabbed at the lip she now saw was swollen. The dead guy had done a number on her before...succumbing. But what had he succumbed from?
Maybe someone had attacked them both and left her for dead. Maybe that someone would return. She backed away from the mirror and stumbled out of the small bathroom.
The walls of the dumpy motel room closed in on her all at once and she listed to the side like a drunken sailor on the deck of a ship. Reaching out a hand to clutch the faded bedspread, she sank to the edge of the bed. She should call the police, 911.
Her gaze traveled to the inert form on the floor and she shivered. Unless she’d killed him.
She crept to the window, where she hooked a finger between two slats of the blinds and peeked outside. She squinted into the gray light. The green numbers on the digital clock by the bed had already told her it was just after six thirty in the morning.
A small, dark car huddled in a parking space in front of the room. Could it be theirs? His? Hers?
She patted the pockets of her jeans—no keys, no ID, no money. She gulped back her rising panic and lunged for the closet. She swung open the door and jumped back as a small wheeled suitcase fell over on its side, just missing her bare toes.
Dropping to her knees, she scrabbled for the zipper with trembling hands. When she flipped open the suitcase, she plunged her hands into a pile of clothes—her clothes. She’d packed in a hurry.
She pushed the bag away from her and crawled on her hands and knees to peer under the bed. Nothing but dust occupied the space and she sneezed as it tickled her nose.
What woman didn’t carry a purse with her?
She searched the rest of the room, giving the body on the floor a wide berth. She ended in the middle of the room, hands on her hips.
One place left she hadn’t searched. She slid a sideways glance at the dead man, and then pivoted toward the bathroom. She yanked a hand towel from the rack. She returned to the man and crouched beside him. With the towel covering her hand, she tugged at his jacket, which fell open, exposing his neck and an intricate tattoo curling around it and down his chest. Vines, barbwire, a skull and the letters L and C intertwined. LC. Larry?
She rifled Larry’s front pockets and heard the jingle of the keys before she saw them. She closed her fingers, still wrapped in the towel, around a key chain and pulled it free of Larry’s pocket. She cupped the keys in her palm, frowning at the yellow daisy key chain—didn’t seem like Larry’s style at all. Maybe the car belonged to her.
A pair of boots, socks stuffed inside, was lined up near the door of the motel room, and she put them on—a perfect fit, kind of like Cinderella in an alternate universe. She eased open the door and pressed her eye to the crack.
Luckily for her, the motel didn’t seem to be a hotspot of tourist activity or any other kind of activity—except for in this room. She swung the door wide and stepped into a cool, damp blast of air. Tucking her chin to her chest, she scurried to the compact car and jabbed at the key fob hooked to the key chain.
The lights of the little car flashed once in greeting, and she blew out a breath. She dropped onto the front seat and slid down. Then she pulled open the glove compartment, and a stack of napkins tumbled out.
Leaving them where they fell, she plunged her hand into the glove box and started pulling papers out, glancing at each one before tossing it to the floor.
When she found the car’s registration, she ran a finger across the printed words and read aloud, her voice filling the car, startling her. “Hazel McTavish.”
The dead man in the hotel room didn’t look like a Hazel. Could she be Hazel? Hazel lived in Seattle, Washington. Was that where she was now? No bells of recognition rang in her head. Seattle meant about as much to her at this point as Timbuktu.
Peering into the back of the car, she scanned the seat and floor. She plucked a black leather jacket from the floor and shook it out. It had to be hers.
With her blood racing, she jammed her hands in the pockets. Her trembling fingers curled around a slip of paper, which she pulled free.
Timberline, WA.
At least there was a common denominator here—Washington. Could she be in Timberline now?
She scooted from the car and locked it with the key fob. She reached into the motel room and yanked the Do Not Disturb sign from the inside door handle, hooking it on the outside before slipping back into the room.
Larry hadn’t moved.
Tapping her toe, she assessed the big man on the floor. Did he have a wallet? A phone? He’d landed on his back, and if he kept his wallet in his back pocket, she doubted she could turn him over to do a search.
Her stomach churned. She didn’t want to try. Didn’t want to touch him.
She had to make some kind of move. She couldn’t hang out here until someone came looking for Larry—or her. And where was here?
She scurried to the other side of the bed and the telephone on the nightstand. She grabbed a cheap notepad printed with the words Stardust Motel, Seattle, Washington, and dropped it.
She returned to the closet and pulled out the suitcase. The clothes in there obviously belonged to her. She wasn’t stealing. Her gaze shifted to the dead guy. Theft was the least of her moral concerns right now.
As she slid the door closed, she noticed two bags stacked on the far side of the closet. She parked the suitcase by the front door and dragged open the other closet door.
She unzipped the first duffel bag and peeled back the top, releasing a stream of air between her teeth. Stacks of bills were nestled neatly in the bag, and she clawed through them all the way to the bottom.
Hugging a few thousand dollars to her chest, she stumbled backward until the back of her legs hit the bed. She sat.
What did it all mean? Were she and Larry bank robbers who’d had a disagreement? Lottery winners who couldn’t decide how to split their windfall?
She dropped the cash on the floor and returned to the closet. With both hands, she pulled the money duffel off the other one and unzipped the bag on the bottom. This time she swayed and grabbed the closet door to steady herself.
She ran her fingertips along the plastic baggies in the duffel, which looked like they were stuffed with ice chips—but this ice didn’t melt. She snatched her hand back from the drugs packaged neatly in the bags.
With her heart hammering in her chest, she swept up the hand towel she’d dropped next to Larry’s body and darted around the room, wiping down surfaces from the bathroom to the TV remote to the duffel bags and all the doorknobs and handles in between.
Maybe the dead man had keeled over from a heart attack or a stroke or an aneurysm, but she had no intention of being here when the cops showed up.
She zipped up the drug bag and hoisted the money bag back on top. She gathered the stacks of bills from the floor where she’d dropped them and froze.
She had no purse, no ID, no memory. How could she make her getaway, find herself with no money?
The cash in her hands felt solid, sort of like a crutch, something to hold on to. She needed this money now. If it turned out she was a drug dealer, she’d return it to...someone. She’d pay it back once she discovered her identity.
She stuffed the money into the suitcase by the door and added a few more stacks for good measure. She’d count it later. She’d use just what she needed to get by.
All the excuses she reeled out for herself couldn’t quell the sick feeling in her stomach. She’d make this right, but she couldn’t leave her fate to strangers when she didn’t even know her own story.
Larry’s body emitted a tinny classical tune, and she dropped the money on the floor. She tiptoed toward him and crouched down, clutching the towel in her hand.
A light glowed from the front pocket of his shirt, and she plucked the phone out, using the hand towel. The cell slid off of his body and landed beside his arm.
Squinting, she leaned forward. The display flashed a call from an unknown number, and then went dark. Drug dealers and bank robbers probably didn’t store contact names and numbers of their associates in their phones.
Since she was hovering over the body anyway, she swiped at the man’s pockets where she’d touched him. She would wipe down the car, take her suitcase and hit the road—first stop Timberline, the name of the town on the slip of paper in her pocket. She was about to rise when a dinging sound stopped her.
The phone lit up again, but this time a text message flashed on the display.
She hunched forward and read the text aloud to the dead man. “‘Did you get the girl? Rocky’s...’”
In place of an adjective for Rocky’s emotion, the texter had inserted a little devil face with smoke coming out his ears. Rocky must be very, very angry.
Was she the girl who had to be gotten? Would’ve been nice if the texter had used her name to give her a head start on reclaiming her identity.
Cell phones could be tracked. She pushed to her feet and finished wiping down every possible surface in the room. When she was done, she tucked a corner of the towel in the waistband of her jeans and peeked out the door.
She’d leave the car here—those could be traced, too. She might be Hazel McTavish from Seattle, but she needed to do a little research before stepping into Hazel’s life.
But before she left without the car, she wanted to check the trunk first. She’d found a bag of money, a bag of drugs, what next? A bag of weapons?
Poking her head out the door, she cranked it from side to side. The people at this motel didn’t seem to be early risers—probably because they were sleeping off the night’s activities or had used the room for just a few hours.
She kept her head down and scurried to the compact, unlocking the trunk with the key fob. It sprang open and she used the towel to ease it up.
Chills raced up her spine and her mouth dropped open in a silent scream as her eyes locked on to the vacant stare of her second dead body this morning.
Chapter Two (#ulink_f20ba6af-b171-51d8-bdbb-d02682d28a30)
DEA Agent Cole Pierson turned away from the dead woman’s stare. Money, drugs, dead bodies—and he hadn’t even officially clocked in yet.
He returned to the motel room, where the odor of decomposing flesh had started to drift through the air. He swiped the back of his hand across his nose. Someone had left the heat blasting in here, which had accelerated the process of the body’s breakdown.
Cole still had no problem identifying the deceased—Johnny Diamond. Whatever had happened in this seedy motel room, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving dirtbag.
The King’s County Sheriff’s Department had descended on the room like a pack of ants at a picnic. One of those ants, Deputy Brookhurst, approached him with a wide grin.
“Quite a haul for you DEA boys, huh? Crank, cash and Johnny Diamond.”
“Now we just have to piece together the rest of the puzzle. Where’d he get it, where was he going with it and who were his contacts? Oh yeah, and who offed him?”
With the toe of his boot, Cole prodded the black duffel bag on the floor, containing hundreds of thousands of dollars of methamphetamine, bagged and ready for the street. Then he wedged his hands on his hips and surveyed the room. What had Diamond been doing in this flea trap?
Why risk stealing a car, murdering the owner and stuffing her body in the trunk with this much cash and product on hand? Diamond had been a slick adversary from the day he’d burst onto the drug scene four years ago. He’d managed to keep out of their clutches precisely because he’d avoided missteps like this.
Maybe Diamond had been planning to cash out and head for a tropical island somewhere. Cole smoothed his gloved hands over the pile of money stashed in the other duffel bag and frowned.
“Brookhurst, are you sure your guys didn’t touch the cash?”
“Hold on.” Brookhurst widened his stance and hooked his thumbs in his pockets like some movie star cowboy. “Are you accusing my boys of something?”
“Stealing? No. Did they move it around? Reposition it? Run their hands through it?” Cole held up his own hands. “Hey, I wouldn’t blame ’em.”
Brookhurst’s puffed-up chest deflated. “I don’t think so. Why do you ask?”
Cole traced the uneven grid of the money stacks with his fingertip. “The bills are stuffed into the bag in tight rows, but those rows are messed up at the top—as if someone thumbed through the money. You checked Diamond’s pockets?”
“I told you—a set of keys with a flower key chain in the front pocket, wallet in the back pocket. Had maybe a hundred bucks in his wallet.”
The county coroners parked a gurney next to Diamond’s body. “We’re ready to take him if you’re done with him.”
“Copy us on the autopsy and toxicology reports. You still think it looks like poison?”
One of the coroners held up a plastic bag containing the bottle of water that had been on the floor, and shook it. “Smells like bitter almonds.”
Cole whistled. “Cyanide.”
“Along with the foaming at the mouth and his reddish skin color, that’s my guess. But it’s just a guess and we have a lot of tests to run.”
“Poison.” Cole drummed his fingers against his chin. “The murder weapon of choice for women, but the motel clerk said Diamond checked in as a single.”
Brookhurst nudged him and chuckled. “Maybe his old lady mixed up a little something special for him when she caught him cheating, or maybe she was cheating and wanted to bypass the divorce. I should start sniffing the drinks my wife mixes for me.”
Cole’s jaw tightened and he nodded once. Cheating-spouse jokes didn’t hold much humor for him anymore.
Hearing a commotion outside, Cole strode to the door of the motel room. A deputy had stopped two women outside the yellow tape. One of them, speaking Spanish, kept pointing at the car with the dead body in the trunk.
Cole joined the knot of people. “What’s going on, Deputy?”
The officer jerked his thumb between the two women. “This one’s saying the other one saw a woman here this morning.”
They’d already questioned one of the women, who was a maid at the motel, but hadn’t seen the second woman yet.
“Espera.” Cole sliced his hand through the air. “Wait. Habla inglés, señora?”
“Sí, yes, I speak English.”
“What were you doing at the motel this morning?”
“Trabajo. I work here as a maid. I have the overnight shift.”
“What time was this?”
“After seven o’clock, señor. I was almost done with work.”
“Where did you see this woman? What did she look like?”
“By this car. I thought maybe she came out of the room. She walked past the car and she was pulling a suitcase.” She twirled her finger in the air. “One with wheels.”
“Did you see what she looked like?”
The maid put her hands about six inches apart. “Flaca. Skinny. Not tall, not short. She was wearing dark pants, maybe jeans, and a dark jacket.”
The woman was observant. “Hair?”
“No, señor.” She shook her head.
His brows shot up. “No hair?”
“Under a hat.” She put her hands on top of her head. “Like una...gorra.”
The other maid spoke up. “Like a knit beanie, pulled over her head.”
Cole’s pulse ratcheted up a notch. Like she was trying to disguise herself. “Did you get a good look at her face?”
“No, sorry. I notice because there was nobody else outside. I don’t think she saw me. She walked past the car, fast, and then turned the corner up there.” The maid pointed to the front of the motel.
“Toward the road.” They’d already questioned the motel clerk and he hadn’t seen or heard a thing. Had this mysterious woman poisoned Johnny Diamond, taken some of his cash and hightailed it out to the road to hitch a ride?
Cole got the contact information for the two women, thanked them and returned to the motel room, where the coroner had already loaded Diamond onto the gurney. The DEA and Cole personally had been trying to nail Diamond for four years. It figured that Diamond’s death would provide even more questions than answers. Nothing had been easy with that guy.
What had Diamond been doing back in his old stomping grounds instead of plying his trade in Arizona, where he’d been wheeling and dealing for four years? Had that woman lured him this way?
Cole turned to Deputy Brookhurst. “Did you find any other fingerprints besides Diamond’s in this room?”
“We barely found any of Diamond’s.”
Cole narrowed his eyes. “Wiped clean?”
“Looks like it.”
“How about his phone? Did your guys search the Dumpsters and bushes for Diamond’s phone? There’s no way a man in Diamond’s business would be without a cell.”
“We looked. We’ll try to track his number through the different providers and see if we can locate his phone by pinging.” Brookhurst slapped Cole on the back. “Don’t worry, Agent Pierson. We’ll keep you guys in the loop. We called you as soon as we found out you had a flag on Johnny Diamond, didn’t we?”
“You sure did, and I appreciate it. I’ve been after this SOB for a long time.” Cole snapped his fingers. “Did any of the deputies do a search on the GPS in the stolen car? I noticed it had a built-in one.”
“Damn, I don’t think we’ve done that yet—a little distracted by what we found in the trunk.”
“Yeah, poor Hazel McTavish. I wonder how she had the bad luck to run across Diamond.” Cole flipped up the collar of his jacket. Seattle days could be cold enough, but Seattle nights could chill you down to your bones. “I’m going to check the GPS and see if I can find out where Diamond and his mysterious lady friend were headed.”
He shouldered his way through the deputies and EMTs gathered around Hazel’s trunk, and slid into the front seat of the car. He sniffed the air and got a whiff of some flowery scent—probably belonged to Hazel, but he’d have the King County boys dust for prints in here, too.
He poked his head out the door and yelled back, “I’m going to start the engine to look at the GPS.”
The GPS beeped to life as he cranked on the ignition. With a gloved finger, he tapped the screen. He swiped his finger across Recent Destinations and blew out a breath—next stop Timberline, Washington.
* * *
HER HEART STUTTERED when the bell above the door of the tourist shop, Timberline Treasures, jingled. She turned from the bin she’d been filling with little stuffed frogs, and released a sigh.
She smiled at the family with two young kids. “Welcome. Let me know if you need anything.”
The parents smiled back and started to browse through the key chains and magnets.
She wiped her sweaty palms on the seat of her jeans. She’d have to stop freaking out every time someone came into the store—or find another job. There was no way anyone could trace her to Timberline from that motel room. She’d wiped down all her prints and had even taken Larry’s phone just in case he’d had any more information about her, or pictures, or any references to Timberline.
Not Larry, Johnny—Johnny Diamond. When she got to Timberline four days ago, one of her first stops had been the public library to use a computer. It hadn’t taken her long to discover the dead man at the Stardust Motel was Johnny Diamond—drug dealer, thief and all-around bad guy.
What she’d been doing with him and how he’d wound up dead, she still didn’t have a clue. The online article she read didn’t give a cause of death, but the authorities suspected homicide—no witnesses and no suspects.
She brushed a wisp of hair from her face. Diamond’s phone didn’t contain any incriminating evidence, and she’d destroyed and dumped it soon after.
Linda, her new boss, new best friend and owner of the store, came from the storage area in the back and plunked a box on the counter. “Can you help me sort through these items, Caroline?”
She’d adopted the name from the North Carolina plates of the semi that had picked her up a mile from that motel outside of Seattle. The choice of a last name had been trickier.
“Of course.” She turned to the family. “Do you need any help?”
The mom swung a key chain around her finger. “We’ll take one of these—just a little something with the town’s name on it.”
Caroline plunged her hand into a bin filled with furry frogs. Holding one up, she shook it. “How about one of these? It’s a Pacific chorus frog and this particular toy is unique to Timberline.”
The little girl’s eyes widened as she tugged on her mom’s sleeve. “Mom, can I have it?”
“Okay.” She rolled her eyes at her husband, who shrugged.
Caroline brought the stuffed frog to the counter and winked at Linda. Linda rang up the family’s purchases and when they left the store, she patted Caroline on the back. “You’re a born salesperson.”
Scooping the trinkets from the box, Caroline said, “I want to do my best to repay you for your kindness, Linda.”
“When that haunted, hunted look leaves your eyes that will be repayment enough for me. It took my sister, Louise, years to recover from the abuse dished out by her boyfriend. When you told me your story of domestic violence and I saw that bruise under your eye—” she patted Caroline’s hand “—I knew I had to help you.”
Caroline blinked back tears as a pang of guilt twisted in her belly. She’d told Linda Gunderson a little lie to explain why she had no ID and why she was using a fake name, Caroline Johnson. She didn’t want her abusive ex tracking her down.
Linda had gone above and beyond by introducing Caroline as her cousin’s daughter, who’d moved out West for a fresh start. Linda extended her kindness even further by offering her the duplex next to her own, which she and her sister owned, and giving her a job at her shop so she could start earning some money with very few questions asked by the others in this small town.
But that haunted, hunted look in her eyes? That wouldn’t go away until she knew her identity and what had happened at the Stardust Motel.
“I appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Linda.”
“I needed help in the store, anyway, with Louise off on her cruise for a month.” Linda sniffled and dabbed her nose. Then she shoved a handful of magnets at her. “Can you stock these and the pencils before you leave?”
“Of course.” Caroline gathered the items and deposited them in their proper places around the store. When she was done, she took the empty box from the counter and left it by the back door of the storage room.
She lifted her black leather jacket and her new purse from the hook and returned to the store, where Linda was helping someone select a sweatshirt. Caroline waved on her way out.
If she hurried, she could make it to the library before it closed. She’d just scratched the surface of Johnny Diamond—enough to discover his talents for all forms of criminality, but not enough to find out about his personal life or any women in it. Had she been one of those women?
Once outside, she glanced at the moody sky, threatening rain, and then hurried across the street toward the civic center at the end of the block that boasted the sheriff’s station, city hall and a cozy library.
She pushed through the glass doors and rounded the corner to the reference section. Two of the three public computers were occupied, but the third glowed in welcome and she strode toward it.
She was two steps away from pulling out the chair when a man slipped in front of her and plopped into it.
“Excuse me.” She put her hands on her hips and hovered over his very broad shoulder. “I was just about to use this computer.”
The man cranked his head over his shoulder and raised his eyebrows over a pair of greenish eyes. “I’m sorry. I was already seated here, but the log-in I got from the reference librarian didn’t work and I went back for another.”
“Oh.” Caroline shifted her gaze to the pad of paper on the table next to the computer, which had been there before he grabbed the chair from under her nose. “I guess I’ll wait.”
“I really am sorry. I won’t be long. The internet went out at my hotel. Otherwise, I’d be there on my laptop.”
She waved her hand. “That’s okay. Maybe one of the others will free up.”
He turned his head to the side to take in the other two users, and his lips twisted into a smile. “Looks like they’re here for the duration. I’ll just be a few minutes.”
“I’ll be over by the magazines. Don’t let anyone sneak in ahead of me.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
“Thanks.” She pivoted toward a collection of love seats scattered in front of the magazine rack. He must have thought she was a real pain—or worse, that she’d been trying to come on to him. Attractive man like that probably had women making up all kinds of excuses to get close to him and exchange a few words.
She snatched a celebrity magazine encased in plastic from the rack and sat on the edge of one of the love seats, facing the computers.
True to his word, about five minutes later, the man stood up from the computer and stretched. He tapped on the keyboard and tucked his notebook under his arm.
She jumped to her feet. On her way back to the computer tables, she replaced the magazine. “That was fast.”
“It’s all yours. Have a nice evening.”
“You, too.” She settled in the chair, warm from his presence. She still had a password from the previous time she’d used the computers here, so she clicked a few keys and swore. The computer was locked and asking her for a password. The guy hadn’t logged off.
She shrugged off her jacket and hung it on the back of the chair and tromped off to find the reference librarian.
The librarian looked up from her own computer behind the reference desk. “Can I help you?”
“I’m trying to use computer number one, but the person before me didn’t log off and now I’m being prompted for a password that I don’t have.”
“That keeps happening. He probably did log off, but we’ve been having issues with that computer. If you don’t mind, you can access with the same user log-in so we don’t have to shut it down and restart it. The password is timberline4, the number, not the word. And it’s all lowercase with no spaces.”
“Thanks.” Caroline returned to the computer and entered the password. As the computer digested her entry, she scooted her chair closer. She’d do another search on Johnny Diamond and try to dig a little deeper this time—beyond the article about his murder.
The computer monitor woke up, and she didn’t even have to launch the search engine since the previous user hadn’t closed out, thinking he’d logged off.
As the window filled the screen, an icy fear gripped her heart. She didn’t have to search for Johnny Diamond—the man sitting here before had already done so.
Chapter Three (#ulink_292618bf-227c-516f-8edd-8dfbae27500a)
With her hands shaking and her belly in knots, Caroline scrolled through the display. Specifically, the man before her had done a search of Diamond’s social media sites.
Did drug dealers really post pictures of their meals and funny cat videos? She clicked on the same links he’d accessed, but found nothing. No wonder he hadn’t spent much time at the computer. Diamond didn’t seem to have a social media footprint.
But why was that guy even checking? What was Diamond to him? She slumped in her chair and closed her eyes. He didn’t look like an associate or fellow drug dealer. Too clean-cut for that, but what did she know?
Too clean-cut. She gripped the arms of the chair. A cop?
She forced herself to breathe. There was no way the cops could’ve traced her here. She’d hitched different rides to get to Timberline, avoiding bus stations and cameras.
Her fingers dug into the fabric on the arms of the chair. Unless the cops knew something about Diamond’s destination. Her search of his background hadn’t turned up anything on Timberline, so what connection could he have to this town except through her?
What connection did she have to this town? Why had she scrawled its name on a piece of paper and slipped it into the pocket of her jacket?
Her nose stung with tears as she pushed away from the table. She’d been a fool to come here. Nobody had recognized her yet or provided her with an identity, and she might’ve walked right into a trap set by Johnny Diamond and his cronies. The man using the computer could be one of those cronies. There must be plenty of clean-cut, attractive drug dealers out there. She’d have to leave this town.
Then what? She had no place else to go. Maybe she should just turn herself in. Could she really be charged with murder if she had no memory of the act? If she had no memory of her life?
She hadn’t discovered much more about herself other than she knew Spanish. She’d come across a Spanish-language TV show and could understand every word they were saying. With her pale skin and light brown hair she didn’t look Latina, but she could be half or have spent time in a foreign country. The possibilities were endless.
Blowing out a breath, she did a hard shutdown of the computer, just in case it didn’t log her out, either. She didn’t need anyone snooping into her browsing history, and Mr. Clean-cut would probably be none too happy if he found out someone had been snooping into his.
Maybe he was just interested in the murder. He didn’t seem to recognize or have any interest in her.
She looped her purse across her body and squared her shoulders. She wasn’t going to run. She had some digging to do first.
Ten minutes later she was seated at the bar of Sutter’s, a local restaurant, flipping open a menu. She’d used the money from Diamond’s bag—the drug money—to buy a few clothes, a purse, and pay first month’s rent to Linda for the duplex. Once she got her life back, she’d return all the money she’d used to the police...anonymously.
The bartender tossed a cocktail napkin on the bar in front of her. “Are you ordering dinner?”
“I’ll have the Sutter’s burger and a root beer.”
He took the menu from her and tapped it on the edge of the bar. “Caroline, right?”
“Good memory.” Unlike some people.
“Part of my job. I’m Bud.”
“I’ll take that menu, Bud.”
Caroline jerked her head to the side and almost slid off the bar stool.
The man from the library straddled his stool and took the menu from the bartender. He nodded at Caroline. “Were you able to get your work done on that computer? I think the library needs to upgrade.”
“I—I was just—” she zeroed in on the menu “—looking up restaurants.”
His green eyes flickered. “And you found this one.”
He must’ve heard Bud say her name. She twisted the napkin in her lap. “Oh, I’ve been here before. I was checking out a few other places.”
“Are you new to Timberline?”
“Sort of. My mother’s cousin lives here and invited me out.” She said a silent prayer for Linda Gunderson.
“Working at Evergreen Software like everyone else?”
Bud delivered her root beer with a wink, and she plunged her straw into the foam while he took the man’s order, giving her time to think.
If she refused to answer his questions, it might seem suspicious, but she didn’t want to tell him her life story—especially since she didn’t have one, outside of waking up with a dead Johnny Diamond on a hotel room floor.
And she didn’t want anyone to know that story.
He handed the menu to Bud and turned his rather sharp green eyes back to her. “Evergreen?”
“No. I’m working at my cousin’s shop right now.” She toyed with her straw. Two could play at this game. “I guess you’re not a local, either, since you mentioned the internet connection in your hotel going down.”
“That’s right.” He thanked Bud for his beer and took a sip through the foamy head. “I’m here doing some research for a book.”
She released the breath she’d been holding in one slow exhale from parted lips. “What kind of book?”
“Sort of a travel book that also touches on the history of the area and local legends and customs.” He held out his hand. “I’m Cole Pierson, by the way.”
“Caroline Johnson.” She wiped her fingers on her cocktail napkin and squeezed and released his hand quickly.
If Johnny Diamond was from this area, the book might explain why Cole was snooping around his social media. Maybe she could even get some info out of Cole about Diamond without arousing his suspicion.
The bartender delivered her food, and she hesitated.
Cole said, “Go ahead. You don’t need to wait for me.”
As she sawed her burger in half, Cole watched her with his head to one side. “Who’s your cousin?”
Biting her lip, she placed her knife across the edge of her plate. Did his research make him naturally nosy, or did he sense her secrets?
“Linda Gunderson. She owns—”
“Timberline Treasures.” His cell phone buzzed in his front shirt pocket, but he ignored it. “I heard about the store that Linda and her sister own. Maybe you can put in a good word for me so I can interview them.”
“Louise is out of town, but I’m sure Linda would be happy to talk to you about Timberline’s history, and you won’t need an introduction from me.”
“Is that a no?”
Bud placed a plate overflowing with mashed potatoes and several slices of meat loaf in front of Cole, and Cole whistled. “Looks good.”
Caroline took a big bite of her burger. Did he expect her to respond? He really didn’t need an introduction to Linda, since she loved talking about Timberline. Was he trying to extend their contact with each other?
Not that she minded, since he was a sweet piece of eye candy, but she had other priorities here.
He wiped his mouth with a napkin. “So how about it? You’ll tell your cousin she can trust me?”
Caroline’s heart skipped a beat. Trust him? How had they jumped from exchanging a few words over dinner to trust?
“Trust you?” She gave a nervous giggle. “I barely know you. Like I said, you don’t need an introduction from me. Linda will talk to you about Timberline.”
He took another sip of beer and then picked up his knife and fork, holding them poised above his plate. “Do you know anything about Timberline? Did you visit your aunt much?”
“Cousin, and no. This is my first time out here.”
He raised his brows as he cut into his meat loaf. “What brings you out here now?”
“Fresh start.” She shrugged.
His glance shifted to her right cheek and the bruise she’d been masking with makeup. Or had she imagined that glance?
The man made her nervous. He asked too many questions. Everyone else had accepted her story without blinking an eye.
Time to deflect and go on the offensive.
“Is that what you were doing in the library? Research?”
“Looking into some local stories, local personalities.”
She pushed away her half-eaten burger. Was Johnny Diamond a Timberline local? Maybe they’d been headed here together? If so, nobody seemed to recognize her yet.
“Why this town? What’s so special about Timberline?” She needed an answer to that question herself. Why was the name of this town scribbled on a piece of paper and stuffed in her jacket pocket?
Cole cocked his head. “The Timberline Trio case for starters, and all the recent fall-out from that old case.”
She nodded. She’d heard the Timberline Trio case mentioned a few times since she’d arrived, but didn’t know much about it—something about some kidnappings that happened twenty-five years ago.
“You really haven’t been around much, have you?”
“Well, I guess I won’t be a good person for you to interview, then.” She grabbed her check from the bar and plucked a ten and a five from her wallet. “Good luck with your research.”
She slapped the check and the cash on the bar and spun around on the stool and hopped off. She couldn’t get out of here fast enough.
“Nice meeting you, Caroline Johnson.” His voice trailed behind her, but she didn’t turn around.
Just because a stranger asked questions didn’t mean you had to answer them—no matter how attractive the stranger was.
When she hit the sidewalk, she blew out a breath, which turned frosty in the night air.
Linda’s duplex sat at the end of the main street in town, so Caroline was able to walk everywhere—at least to work and back. She had enough money from Johnny Diamond’s loot to pay cash for a used car, but she didn’t have a driver’s license or any other ID. Walking would have to do for now.
She reached into her jacket pocket for her hat and tripped to a stop on the sidewalk. It must’ve fallen out. She scanned the ground around her, and then kicked at the curb with the toe of her boot.
She’d left it, along with her umbrella, on the bar, and the last thing she wanted to do was go back in there and have another exchange with the nosy, if hunky, writer.
She could leave them at Sutter’s and pick them up tomorrow. Nobody would steal a hat or umbrella. Bud had probably already put her things behind the bar.
Hugging her jacket around her body, she took a step, and a drop of rain pelted her cheek. She looked up at the dark sky and shivered. A ten-minute walk in the cold rain without a hat or umbrella would turn to misery after about one minute.
She had every right to march back into Sutter’s and grab her hat and umbrella. She peeked through the window at Cole chatting with Bud. He was probably giving him the third degree, too.
She could always swing through the back entrance and maybe get one of the waitresses to get them for her. She took off at a swift pace and slipped into the alley between two businesses a few doors down from Sutter’s.
Trailing her hand along one wall, she strode to the back of the buildings and turned right.
A low light illuminated the red awning above Sutter’s back door. She tugged at the handle and stepped into the warmth. Moving toward the buzz of the restaurant, she had a clear view of the bar, and it looked like Cole had left.
The door to the men’s room swung open, almost hitting her, and she jumped back.
“Nothing yet.”
The low timbre of Cole’s voice stunned her, and she flattened herself against the wall and ducked behind a cigarette machine.
The bathroom door slammed shut, but Cole stayed put in the hallway and continued his conversation, his back toward her.
“I met a woman tonight who sort of fit the profile—slim, new to town, had a dark cap, too.”
He paused, while Caroline’s heart thumped in her chest so loudly she couldn’t believe he didn’t hear it.
“Naw, she’s related to someone here in town and isn’t Diamond’s type—too pretty, too normal.”
Caroline closed her eyes and ground her teeth as her stomach lurched. If she got sick here and now, it would be all over, and Cole would know she wasn’t normal—not at all.
“I’ll keep looking around—and not a word to the boss, Craig.”
He ended the call and went back to the bar.
Caroline crept to the back door and stumbled outside.
She might not be who she claimed to be...but neither was Cole Pierson.
Chapter Four (#ulink_2adeaf65-b4ac-52fb-9a2b-026e3ffd7617)
Cole pocketed his phone and perched on the edge of the bar stool. “How much do I owe you, Bud?”
“Do you want another beer?”
“I’m good. Just the check.” Cole fingered the soft, black stocking cap on the bar beside him. Caroline had left in such a hurry she’d forgotten her hat and umbrella.
Her attitude had set off alarm bells in his head. She’d been skittish, nervous. Hadn’t liked his questions. Didn’t seem to know much about the town where she had relatives. Why would a young, attractive woman come to a small town like Timberline to relocate when she’d never been here before?
She didn’t seem too concerned about his possible interview with Linda Gunderson. He’d make sure to follow through on that.
When Bud dropped the check, he pointed to the cap. “Caroline leave her hat?”
“Her umbrella, too.” Cole ducked beneath the bar and hooked a finger around the umbrella’s wrist strap.
“I can put it back here for her.”
“You know what?” Cole balled the hat in his fist and shoved it into the pocket of his down jacket. “I’m stopping by her cousin’s shop tomorrow, anyway. I’ll return them to her.”
“It’s on you, then.” Bud swept up the check and cash. “Change?”
“Keep it.” Cole shoved his money clip into his front pocket. “What do you know about Caroline?”
Bud winked. “Pretty gal, huh?”
Bud had just given Cole the angle to play. “Does she have a husband or boyfriend lurking around?”
“She’s single. Came here to stay with Linda Gunderson, her cousin, but then you know that, since you’re going to Timberline Treasures to return Caroline’s stuff.”
“You’ve never seen her out here before?”
“Nope, but I don’t know Linda that well. She rarely comes in to Sutter’s and never sits at the bar, although she’s no stranger to a little vino now and then.” Bud hunched forward. “I heard Caroline was running from some trouble.”
“Oh yeah?” Cole’s pulse ticked up along with his interest. “What kind of trouble.”
“Man trouble.” Bud tapped his temple. “Came to town sporting a shiner. The word is she’s running from a bad relationship, so you might want to think twice before heading down that road with her. Jealous boyfriends and husbands just might get you killed.”
“You got that right.” Cole rapped on the bar. “Thanks for the tip.”
When he stepped outside, Cole zipped up his jacket against the cold. Was Caroline’s jealous boyfriend Johnny Diamond? And had she taken care of the problem herself?
* * *
THE NEXT MORNING after breakfast at his hotel, Cole drove his rental into town. The internet connection had been back up, and he’d done a search of Caroline Johnson—perfect name to reveal nothing and everything. He’d run her name through the DEA database, too, but nothing clicked.
He pulled his car into one of the two public lots on Main Street. The small town of Timberline had done a good job preparing for the increased population and traffic from Evergreen Software, the company that had revitalized this former mining and lumber town.
He tucked Caroline’s hat and umbrella under one arm as he made his way to Timberline Treasures. Taking a deep breath, he flung open the door and a little bell jingled his arrival.
He didn’t know if Caroline would be working today or not. If not, he could always grill Linda Gunderson about her cousin. But he hoped Caroline would be here...because he wanted to see her again.
An older woman looked up from behind the counter. “Good morning. Let me know if you need any help.”
“I do need some help, but I don’t need a Timberline frog.”
“Oh? What do you need?”
Caroline stepped out from the back of the shop. “Information.”
“I’m glad I found you here.” Cole held up the cap and umbrella. “You left these at Sutter’s last night.”
Caroline’s eyes widened. “And—and you took them?”
“I knew I’d be dropping by Timberline Treasures today to talk to Ms. Gunderson, so I told Bud I’d bring them to you.”
“Thanks.” She didn’t make a move toward the counter, so he weaved his way through the bins and shelves on the store’s floor and placed them on top of the glass counter. Then he thrust out his hand toward Linda. “Ms. Gunderson? I’m Cole Pierson. I’m writing a book about Timberline.”
Linda’s pale skin flushed as she shook his hand. “Oh dear, not a book on the Timberline Trio case, I hope.”
“Not at all. This is a travel book that includes some of the town’s lore. The Timberline Trio will probably make a brief appearance, but the crime is not the focus.”
“Good, because we had some problems when a TV show came here to film. Nothing but trouble.” She pursed her lips.
“I met your cousin Caroline last night at Sutter’s and she said you might be willing to talk to me about the old Timberline.”
“I think I can do that.” She fluffed her permed gray hair. “Is this going to be on camera?”
He held up his cell. “Just recorded on my phone, if that’s okay.”
“That’s fine. I’d be happy to talk with you. Are you also interviewing some of the real old-timers and the Quileute out on the reservation?”
Cole smiled over gritted teeth and nodded. This pretense could turn into a full-time job. “On my list.”
The door tinkled behind him, and he glanced over his shoulder at an elderly couple struggling to push a stroller through the door. Cole maneuvered through the shop’s displays to grab the door for them and hold it open.
The woman said, “Thank you so much. Our daughter has us bring so many items for the baby it’s like pushing a truck instead of a stroller.”
Cole hunched forward and chucked the baby beneath his chubby chin. “Is this your grandson?”
“Our first.” Grandpa beamed.
The baby grabbed Cole’s finger and gurgled. “You’re a strong little guy, aren’t you? Little bruiser.”
He straightened up and met Caroline’s wide eyes. Her eyebrows were raised and her mouth was slightly open. Heat rushed to his cheeks and he cleared his throat. “Cute kid.”
“You’re back.” Linda bustled toward the couple and cooed over the baby.
As she chattered with the grandparents, Cole returned to the counter. “I was hoping to chat with Linda in the store today, but if she’s too busy maybe I can buy her lunch.”
“We’re not going to be that busy today—not with the rain gusting through.” Caroline tapped her fingers on the glass top. “Do you have kids?”
“Me? No. That?” He jerked his thumb toward the baby Linda now had in her arms. “Just making the grandparents feel good.”
Actually, that had been one of many disappointments from his failed marriage. The fact that he and Wendy didn’t have children. Although, given how the marriage ended—badly—that was probably a good thing.
“Do you?”
“Do I what?” Her blue eyes narrowed in her usual suspicious manner.
“Have kids?”
“Oh, no.”
“Did your husband come out here with you for that fresh start?”
“I’m not...married.” Her brows collided over her nose.
“Sorry.” He held up his hands. “You started it...the personal questions.”
“Then I apologize. You just seemed like a natural with that baby.”
The couple at the door called out, “Goodbye. Have a nice day.”
Cole waved.
“Friends of yours?” he asked as Linda returned to the register.
“Their daughter and son-in-law moved to Timberline when she took a job with Evergreen. They’re retired and have been coming for visits since little Aaron was born.” Linda rubbed her hands together. “Now, where were we? Do you have questions about Timberline?”
“Is it okay if we do this now? I don’t want to interrupt business for you.”
She flicked her fingers in the air. “We won’t be busy, and now I have Caroline to watch the store for me.”
“Can I buy you coffee across the street at Uncommon Grounds?”
“I told him he could talk to you in the back, Linda.”
Linda knitted her brows and her gaze darted between the two of them. “Are you worried about being in the store by yourself, Caroline? You’ve done it before. I think you can handle it.”
Did Caroline have a problem with him talking to Linda alone? Cole pasted a smile on his face. “It’s up to you. Thought I’d buy you a coffee for your trouble.”
“It does sound nice and I haven’t had mine yet this morning.” She patted Caroline’s arm. “We’ll just be across the street. If something comes up, give me a holler.”
“Of course, of course.” Caroline’s shoulders dropped. “I know how much you enjoy talking about Timberline’s history.”
Some weird undercurrent passed between the two women, like a force field excluding him, and a muscle ticked in his jaw as his senses picked up on it.
Linda gave Caroline’s arm another pat and then smacked the counter with the flat of her hand, which broke the tension. “It’s settled. Coffee it is.”
“Enjoy yourselves.” Caroline brushed her light brown hair from her face. “I’ll hold down the fort.”
Cole stopped at the door. “Do you want us to bring you back anything?”
“No, thanks. I’m good.”
The door shut behind them and Caroline waited for the bells to fade before covering her face with her hands.
She’d be a lot better once Cole Pierson, or whatever his name was, left Timberline. That pat on the arm from Linda reassured her that her so-called cousin wouldn’t be spilling the beans about her to Cole.
Maybe this interview was just what she needed to get Cole off her back. If he couldn’t shake Linda’s story that she was a cousin from back East who was escaping a bad relationship, maybe he’d move on.
And she could get back to the business of finding out who she was and what she was doing with a lowlife like Johnny Diamond.
She had discovered that the body in the trunk of the car outside the motel room was Hazel McTavish, and most likely Diamond had murdered Hazel when he stole her car at the airport in Seattle. So how far-fetched was it to assume that Caroline was also one of Diamond’s victims?
Except she’d had a packed bag with her in the motel room. If he’d carjacked Hazel at the airport, maybe she’d been at the airport, too.
She rubbed the back of her head, where a hard knot had formed in place of the bump. She needed to regain her memory. How did people do that without going to a hospital and getting involved with law enforcement and psychiatrists?
The door to the shop swung open, and Caroline jumped. Her grip on the edge of the counter tightened as she watched a single man stroll through the door, shaking out his umbrella.
She had an idea of what one of Johnny Diamond’s cronies might look like, and it wasn’t this guy, with his crisp khakis and belted raincoat. But that’s what she’d thought about Cole Pierson, too, and he obviously had some involvement with Diamond if he was looking for her.
She forced a smile to her face. “Can I help you find something? All the wood carvings in the front are 50 percent off.”
The man tilted his head, a puzzled look in his eyes. “I’m just looking around. It’s been a long time since I’ve been to Timberline.”
Either she was paranoid or she was giving off a weird vibe, because this guy was checking her out. Probably a little of both. She coughed. “Feel free to browse.”
She dusted behind the counter while keeping an eye on the shopper. He picked up and discarded many items after studying them intently.
He finally picked up one of the stuffed frogs and shook it.
“That’s unique to Timberline. A local artist makes those.”
“I think I used to have one of these frogs.” He tossed it in the air and caught it by one leg. “I’ll take it.”
“Do you have children?”
“A daughter.” He brought the frog to the counter.
“I’m sure she’ll like it.” Caroline’s blood thrummed in her veins as she rang up the man’s purchase under his scrutiny. He was studying her like he’d been studying the trinkets in the shop. Maybe he was just an intense guy.
“Is she with you? Your daughter?”
“No, I’m on a...business trip.”
She counted his change into the palm of his hand and shoved the plastic bag toward him. “Hope she likes it.”
He walked toward the door slowly and then stopped with his hand on the knob. “Are you a local?”
Did she just have one of those faces that invited questions, or was this a small-town thing?
“No. I’m staying with my cousin, who owns this shop.”
His shoulders drooped. “Ahh, well, thank you.”
“Enjoy your stay.”
When the door closed, she collapsed against the counter. Would she suspect every person who walked in here of having ulterior motives? Of course, as the saying went, sometimes they really were out to get you.
She’d been right to suspect Cole. He’d lied to her about being a writer. He was searching for Johnny Diamond’s companion. He was searching for her.
Crossing her arms, she strolled to the front door and leaned her forehead against the cool glass. She couldn’t see into Uncommon Grounds, the coffee shop where Cole had taken Linda to grill her. Caroline had to trust that Linda would keep her secrets—even the ones she didn’t know about. If Linda told Cole that she didn’t have a second cousin named Caroline and had never laid eyes on her before she’d discovered her crying in the alley behind her store, he’d have every reason to believe she was the mystery woman with Diamond. And she had to be a mystery to Cole or he would’ve recognized her.
But who was he? If he was Diamond’s associate, he might be wondering about some missing drug money. Did the police mention how much money was found in the hotel room? Surely not. How would Diamond’s cohorts know whether or not she’d stolen any money?
They might want to find her for other reasons. Revenge? Information? Could Cole be a cop?
The door to the Uncommon Grounds opened, and Caroline jerked back as Linda appeared on the sidewalk with Cole behind her. They were both laughing. That didn’t mean anything, though. Cole Pierson was a charmer. He had the good looks to beguile a woman of any age.
Hadn’t he cast a spell on her? Caroline should’ve taken her burger to go last night and gotten the heck out of Sutter’s. If she had, she wouldn’t have overheard his conversation. Better to know your enemies and keep them close.
She could keep Cole close—no problem.
His question about children had troubled her. She’d never considered that she might have a husband and children somewhere. Didn’t she owe it to them to turn herself in to the police? If she were missing, they’d be looking for her. Even if she didn’t come from this area, she might be able to find out if they were.
Maybe she should start looking at missing persons reports from other states.
As Linda and Cole approached the shop, Caroline backed away from the door and grabbed her duster.
They were still laughing when they entered on a wet gust of wind that sent the bells into a frenzy.
“Looks cold out there.”
“It’s freezing.” Linda held out a coffee cup. “Which is why we got you a latte.”
“Thanks, Linda.” Caroline took the cup from her.
“Thank Cole. It was his idea.”
“Thanks, Cole.” She raised the cup in his direction. “Did you get what you wanted?”
“I think so. Enough to settle a few questions and raise a few more, which is always a good start to, ah...research.”
She took a sip of coffee, eyeing him over the rim of her cup. The man drove her crazy. Was he toying with her?
The pressure of Linda’s hand against the small of her back nudged her toward the counter. “I gave Cole a long, boring history of this shop and a more interesting account of the local artists, including Scarlett Easton, who’s quite famous for her modern art, although I prefer her landscapes.”
Caroline released a few short breaths. Linda had kept mum about her sudden appearance in Timberline.
“I sold a Libby Love frog while you were out living it up at Uncommon Grounds.”
“Wonderful. I was wondering if we’d do any business today with the rain coming down.”
Caroline jerked her thumb over her shoulder. “Might be a good day to continue with that inventory.”
“I am taking the hint.” Cole grabbed a frog. “And to show my appreciation for your time, I’ll buy a frog, too.”
“I thought you didn’t have children.”
“I don’t have any, but that doesn’t mean there’s not a kid or two in my life.”
Linda rang him up and tucked the frog into a plastic bag. “Let me know if you need anything else, Cole, and do go talk to Evelyn Foster out on the reservation. She can tell you about all the Quileute legends and myths.”
“I’ll do that.” He held up his hand. “Stay dry.”
Linda went to the window and watched him walk away. “Nice man. Good-looking, isn’t he?”
“Cut to the chase, Linda. Did he ask about me?”
“Nothing to worry about, Caroline. He didn’t ask anything a man attracted to a woman wouldn’t ask.”
Her nostrils flared. “Attracted? What does that mean?”
“Don’t worry. I told him a little about your past.” She held her thumb and index finger about an inch apart. “Just so he knows you’re not ready to jump into anything right now.”
“What did you tell him?” Caroline pressed two fingers to her temple. “Y-you didn’t reveal that I really wasn’t your cousin and had just arrived in town, did you? I’m not sure I trust him. M-my ex could’ve sent him. He could be looking for me right now.”
Linda cinched both her wrists with a surprisingly strong grip. “I promised to keep your secrets, Caroline, and I’m not going back on that just for a pair of twinkling green eyes and a set of broad shoulders.”
“What exactly did you tell him?”
“I stuck to the story. My cousin’s daughter contacted me a few weeks ago, was in a bad relationship, wanted a fresh start and asked to visit for a while—and you are that cousin.” She cocked her head. “Besides, if your ex really did send Cole looking for you, wouldn’t he already know what you looked like? You have nothing to fear from Cole—except his devastating charm.”
Biting her lip, Caroline folded her hands around her coffee cup. Had his conversation with Linda convinced Cole that Caroline Johnson was not the woman he was looking for, despite the black beanie?
If not, she had a lot more than Cole’s devastating charm to fear.
* * *
SINCE LINDA HAD a bridge game with friends that evening that entailed her to concoct some complicated dessert to outdo the other ladies, Caroline had convinced her to leave early and let her close up.
Only a handful of customers had come into the store, and no more suspicious characters. Cole Pierson was the only suspicious character she’d actually met. She doubted more were on the way. She could either leave Timberline and abandon any hope of ever discovering why she’d been headed here originally, or stick it out and convince Cole she really was Linda Gunderson’s cousin, who had no connection to Johnny Diamond, his drugs or his money.
She traced the edge of the piece of paper in her pocket on which she’d written the name and number of a therapist in Port Angeles. She’d asked Linda for a recommendation with the excuse that she wanted to work through her issues associated with the domestic violence. Linda was more than happy to oblige.
A therapist would have that confidentiality thing. The therapist probably couldn’t keep a confession of murder confidential, but Caroline didn’t believe she’d murdered Johnny Diamond. Maybe she’d killed him in self-defense, but she had no intention of admitting that to... She took the slip of paper out of her pocket and read aloud, “Dr. Jules Shipman.”
Caroline locked the front door and flipped Open to Closed. Then she dipped her hand in her other pocket and called Dr. Shipman on the prepaid phone she’d purchased a few days ago.
She left a message after the beep, giving as little information as possible. Time enough to get into all the gory details of her life once she was lying on Dr. Shipman’s couch.
She transferred the money from the register to the safe and dropped the accounting slip on top of the bills. She flicked off the lights and reached for her beanie and umbrella.
She smoothed her fingers across the soft material of the knit cap. She’d been foolish to keep this hat. How had Cole known the woman with Diamond had a hat like this? Had Johnny told him? Had someone seen her at the Stardust?
She pulled it on her head and shoved out the back door. She could stop playing this cat-and-mouse game and ask him. As she yanked the door shut, she shivered.
What then? Would he kill her? Interrogate her? Arrest her? She didn’t know which of those options would be the worst.
As she marched along the alleyway running behind the Main Street shops, a noise caught her attention. She glanced over her shoulder at a man unfurling an umbrella.
He looked up and she could make out the pale oval of his face, but not much more. As he turned, the wind caught the edge of his trench coat and Caroline gasped.
Was he the man from the store who’d bought the Libby Love frog? Had he been watching her? Waiting for her?
She splashed through a puddle as she turned the corner and made a beeline for the more populated Main Street. Nobody was walking on the rain-soaked sidewalks, but people were going in and out of the restaurants and hopping into their cars.
She headed for the lights and warmth of Sutter’s. She’d pick up some dinner to take back to her duplex, and mull over what she planned to say to Dr. Shipman.
She ducked into Sutter’s and pointed to the bar as the hostess approached her. “I’m getting it to go.”
She walked up to the bar and her stomach sank as a tall, good-looking man flashed a grin at her.
“We gotta stop meeting like this.”
She tipped her chin at his almost empty plate. “Meat loaf again?”
“What can I say?” He spread his hands. “I’m a sucker for a home-cooked meal, even when it’s not at home.”
She waved down Bud. “Can I get a grilled chicken sandwich to go, with a side of sweet potato fries?”
“Coming right up.” He jerked his thumb at Cole. “Did this guy give you your hat and umbrella?”
“He did.”
“I was going to hold them behind the bar for you, but he said he’d be seeing you today.”
“Did you think I was trying to steal them?” Cole crumpled his napkin and dropped it in his plate. “I don’t think the hat would’ve fit.”
“Just keeping you honest, man.” Bud winked at Caroline and she gave him a weak smile.
Everyone seemed to think Cole Pierson was the greatest guy ever. What would they think if they knew what she knew? That he was a lying SOB and possible drug dealer...or undercover cop.
A burst of rain pelted the window next to the bar and Cole whistled. “I think it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”
“It’s bad out there.” She dug for some cash in her purse, so she could pay and be on her way as soon as Bud came up with her order.
“Linda told me you didn’t have a car here yet and you walk all over town.”
“It’s not bad.”
“Except on a night like this. Can I give you a lift to your place? Even though it’s not far, you’ll get drenched walking that half mile.”
Her jaw tightened. “Linda told you where I live?”
“She mentioned it was lucky the other side of the duplex she and her sister own was empty when you came to town.” He leaned in close, his lips brushing the wet strands of her hair. “I’m not trying to move in on you or anything. I know you’ve had a rough time of it.”
She blinked against the tears pricking her eyes. Was he referring to the brawl she’d apparently had with Johnny Diamond in the hotel room, or her manufactured past with the abusive ex? Cole’s soothing tone almost made her want to confess everything to him. Almost.
She squared her shoulders. “Linda gossips too much. I dumped a jerk—nothing I can’t handle.”
“Thatta girl.” A wide grin claimed his face. “Don’t let the bastards bring you down.”
“Here’s your change, Cole.” Bud swept up Cole’s plate. “Your food will be up in a minute, Caroline.”
Cole pocketed his cash. “So, how about it? I’m parked right out front.”
She wanted to tell him to take a hike, keep his questions to himself and mind his own business. But that would make him even more suspicious, and maybe Linda had convinced him that she was really her cousin in need of a fresh start.
“I’d love a ride, thanks. If it’s not too inconvenient.”
“No problem at all.”
Bud returned with a bag hanging from his fingers, and then twisted his head around to look at the TV mounted above the bar. He called to the other bartender. “Denny, turn up the volume. It’s a story on the Johnny Diamond murder.”
A chill raced down Caroline’s spine, but she kept motionless.
Cole tipped his head back to take in the TV monitor. “I heard about that—found the guy with drugs and a car with a dead body in the trunk.”
Her dinner still dangled from Bud’s fingertips and she wanted to scream at him.
Cole asked, “Was he a local boy?”
“Diamond? No, but he ran with a local motorcycle gang, the Lords of Chaos.”
The sounds around Caroline receded and she felt like she was spinning through a vacuum. Larry. LC, the tattoo on Johnny Diamond’s neck, stood for Lords of Chaos. Timberline had been Johnny Diamond’s destination, not hers. Or maybe it had been hers, too. Nobody seemed to recognize her here, nobody except Cole Pierson, and for him her identity was all speculation.
“Do you think he was on his way here when he was killed?”
Bud hunched his shoulders. “I don’t know. I hope not. Timberline has had enough trouble with the Lords.”
The story ended. Denny turned down the sound and Caroline could breathe again—almost. “My food?”
“Sorry.” He placed the bag on the counter. “Napkins and utensils inside.”
She handed him a twenty. “Thanks, keep it.”
Cole rose from his stool before she did. “Ready?”
“Uh-huh.” She looked at Bud’s curious expression and said, “Cole’s giving me a ride home in the rain.”
“Good idea. Have a good night.”
Caroline turned, hugging the bag to her chest. So now if Cole murdered her and dumped her body in the woods, someone would connect him to her disappearance—and she was only half kidding.
She preceded Cole through the restaurant in thoughtful silence. Was the revelation of Johnny Diamond’s connection to a motorcycle gang news to Cole or was he a member, too? She could always check his body for tattoos—and she was only half kidding about that, too.
As he opened the door for her, she slid a glance at his hand and the wrist revealed when his sleeve rode up. No tattoos there and she hadn’t noticed any on his neck.
He opened his umbrella. “Here, get under. I’m just one door down.”
A small sedan flashed its lights and beeped once, and Cole held the umbrella over her head while she climbed into the car. When he slammed the door, she did a quick survey of the console and the backseat.
No weapons and no dead bodies. Things were looking up.
He opened the driver’s side door and collapsed his umbrella. As he slid onto the seat, he tossed the soggy umbrella in the rear. “Whew. This is a deluge. Even with your umbrella, you would’ve been soaked to the bone.”
“Yeah, thanks.”
He started the car and then turned to look at her, studying her profile. “Glad to do it.”
“Straight ahead.” She pinned her hands between her bouncing knees.
“All the way at the end where the businesses stop?”
“Yes.”
The car crawled through the flooded streets, and Cole hunched forward. “You’d think a town in Washington would do a better job of drainage.”
“Timberline’s old.”
“The influx of money from Evergreen Software should start going toward the town’s infrastructure.”
“Linda says it’s helped a lot.” Caroline tapped on the window. “Up ahead on the right where the two yellow lights are.”
Cole pulled into the driveway she didn’t use. “I’ll get the door for you.”
He pulled his umbrella from the backseat and unfurled it before getting out of the car. Two seconds later, he was opening her door, holding the umbrella over her head at great expense to his own well-being.
As she groped for the keys in her purse, he stayed right by her side, keeping her dry. When she made it to the covered porch, she pulled him up next to her. “You’re drenched.”
“You’re not.”
She released his sleeve. Was this his strategy? Cozy up to her so she’d spill her guts?
“Well, now it’s all yours.” She inserted her key into the lock and turned. “Thanks again and good luck with your book.”
“Good luck to you, too, Caroline Johnson.”
His voice trailed to a whisper as he melted back into the rain.
She blew out a breath and pushed open her door. That sounded like a goodbye. Linda must’ve been convincing.
She stepped into the small living room and the hair on the back of her neck quivered. Her gaze darted from the bookshelves to the pillows on the couch to the magazines stacked on the coffee table.
Someone had been in her house. A primal fear seized her and she turned and fled back into the driving rain.
Chapter Five (#ulink_854e7080-b84f-5d58-9e55-f8ae2ec5c4e2)
Cole dumped his umbrella in the backseat and slicked back his wet hair. He’d have to look elsewhere for Johnny Diamond’s killer. One of the Realtors in town had mentioned a new single female renter at one of the cabins.
He took one last look at Caroline’s door. He was relieved she wasn’t connected to Diamond, but disappointed that he didn’t need to spend any more time with her.
She sure as hell didn’t want to spend any more time with him. After her experience with her husband, she must hate all men. He could understand that, but hell, he didn’t hate all women after his own experience. But then his wife had just cheated on him, not given him a shiner.
A yellow oblong appeared on the porch and it took him a minute to realize that Caroline had opened the door. Had she changed her mind about him and wanted to invite him in for a drink? A guy could hope for the best.
As he squinted into the darkness, she flew off the porch and disappeared. Had she fallen?
He opened his door and peered through the sheets of rain at Caroline scrambling in the mud on the side of the short walkway to the porch, which she’d obviously missed.
“Caroline?” He slammed the car door and jogged toward her, leaving the umbrella behind in the car.
She looked up at him, her face pale, her eyes huge.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” He crouched beside her and hooked his hands beneath her arms, pulling her up.
She stuttered through chattering teeth. “Someone...s-someone was in my h-house.”
A shot of adrenaline coursed through Cole’s body. “Someone’s there now?”
“I—I don’t know.”
He pulled her onto the porch. “Stay here.”
His hand hovering over the gun in his jacket pocket, he crept into the house. He blinked. It didn’t look like there was a thing out of place. He’d expected chaos.
He moved silently across the wood floor, leaving a trail of puddles in his wake. He poked his head into the kitchen in case someone was crouched behind the counter that separated kitchen from living room. He couldn’t detect any disturbance in this room, either.
He edged down the hallway and checked both bedrooms, including beneath the beds and in the closets, and even swept aside the shower curtain.
What had given Caroline the idea that someone had broken into her place? All the doors and windows were intact.
He zipped his pocket over his gun and returned to the porch, where Caroline was hugging the wall. “It’s okay. There’s nobody here.”
He put his arm across her shoulders and felt the vibrations from her trembling body. He nudged her into the house and shut the door behind them.
“Can I get you something? Hot tea? A shot of whiskey? Both? You’re wet and muddy.”
She stared at him with wide eyes, her arms folded across her stomach. Her voice came out as a harsh whisper. “Was it you?”
Her soft words punched him in the gut. “Me? What?”
“Did you break in here to search through my things? To frighten me? To...to—” she waved her arm up and down his body “—to do this?”
“I don’t understand.” He stepped back. “Do you think I’m working for your husband or something?”
“I don’t know.”
“I’m not. I’m...not.” He couldn’t tell her about his mission here. He was doing this investigation on his own dime, anyway. He just wanted to reassure her. He wanted to snap his fingers and dissolve the fear that rimmed her eyes.
“I swear I don’t know your husband, but from what Linda told me he sounds like a jerk. Look...” Cole ran a hand through his damp hair. “My stepdad used to knock my mom around. I’d never help out anyone who hurt women or children. Never.”
Caroline’s mouth softened and her lashes fluttered. “I’m sorry.”
“You don’t have to be. Just know I’m not on your husband’s side. I don’t even know your husband and wouldn’t want to, except to plant one on his face.”
She pulled her shoulders back. “Okay. It wasn’t you.”
“Of course not.” Cranking his head from one side to the other, Cole asked, “How’d you know someone had been in here? Looks neat to me.”
“I’m very particular. I can tell.”
“Maybe Linda came over. She lives in the duplex next door, right? Maybe she had to get something or was going to leave something for you?”
Caroline shook her head and the droplets from her hair rained down on the floor. “Linda wouldn’t do that. Someone was in here.”
“And you think it was your ex or someone he sent?”
Her gaze dropped to her fingers, twisting in front of her. “Maybe. I suppose it could be a thief.”
“A very neat thief.”
“A thief who didn’t want to be discovered.”
“But one totally unaware of your super detection abilities.” Cole smiled like an idiot, wanting to touch her, but afraid he’d send her over the edge. “You need to get out of those wet clothes. And the mud. You should see the mud.”
“I dropped my dinner just inside the front door. I’m going to take a hot shower and curl up with my sweet potato fries.”
“Do you want to call the police?”
“No!” A red tide washed over her cheeks beneath the mud smears. “I have no proof anyone was here. The sheriff’s department would put me down as a lunatic.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay here by yourself?”
“I’ll be fine. Linda should be home soon. I’ll ask her if she was here. Maybe you’re right.”
“I can stay while you shower. I mean, wait in here.”
“Really, I’m okay. I’ve been on edge.” She breezed past him and picked up the bag of food on the floor, and then opened the front door. “Thanks for coming back and helping me. I feel like a fool.”
“I wasn’t going to leave you flailing around in the mud.”
She rolled her eyes. “That bad, huh?”
“You were scared and had a fall.” He put his finger to his lips. “I won’t tell a soul.”
“Good night, Cole.”
“Good night, Caroline.” He left the house and waited on the porch as he listened for the click of the dead bolt.
Jamming his hands in his pockets, he put his head down and walked briskly to his car, keeping to the paved walkway.
He started the engine and cranked on the heat and defroster full blast. Blowing on his hands and rubbing them together, he eyed Caroline’s duplex over the steering wheel.
Had he miscalculated? Would her ex really travel across the country to stalk her, or more unbelievably, send someone else to do it? How had she been so sure someone had broken in? Was it paranoia or was she really expecting trouble? And from what quarter? An abusive ex-husband, or from someone equally as dangerous? A drug trafficker looking for his money?
Cole felt a stab of guilt that he’d circled back to his original suspicions. He’d put those to rest after talking to Linda Gunderson, and what earthly reason would Linda have to lie for a complete stranger? To fabricate a whole life for this stranger?
Money? Timberline Treasures hardly looked like a bustling, profitable enterprise.
He threw the rental into gear and backed out of the driveway. Maybe Caroline had paid Linda to claim her as a cousin. Linda told a mighty convincing story.
As he watched Caroline’s porchlight fade into the darkness in his rearview mirror, he set his jaw. There were too many puzzle pieces that didn’t fit. Caroline Johnson hadn’t quite convinced him that she wasn’t the woman with Johnny Diamond.

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