Hiding in plain sight

Sending his family away years ago was the hardest thing FBI special agent Garrett Drake ever did. But it was the only way to shield them from a case turned terrifyingly personal. Now a serial killer has come to town. To safeguard his estranged son—and the entire Port Whisper community—Garrett needs help. And that means reaching out to Lana Burns, a captivating woman who cuts through his defenses. Garrett would willingly risk his life to uncover the killer. But to get a second chance at happiness, Lana has to convince the wary agent to risk his heart....

“I’m impressed by how you handled that teenager.”

“Wow, can I get a junior FBI badge or something?”

“Don’t push it.”

Garrett looked surprised, as if he hadn’t meant to utter the playful retort. Lana thought he might have even cracked a smile but couldn’t be sure. It would be a vast improvement on his permanent frown, his lips stretched into a thin straight line.

“I’d like to ask a favor of you,” he said.

“Sure.”

“Promise me you’ll never do that again?”

“You mean…”

“Insinuate yourself into a dangerous situation like that.”

Lana dunked her tea bag in the hot water and sighed. He was asking the impossible. She couldn’t turn her back on someone who was in so much pain they were blinded to the beauty of life and the grace of God. She knew how precious life was, and how short it could be.

“I’m sorry, I can’t make that promise,” she said.

HOPE WHITE

An eternal optimist, Hope was born and raised in the Midwest. She began spinning tales of intrigue and adventure when she was in grade school, and wrote her first book when she was eleven—a thriller that ended with a mysterious phone call the reader never heard!

She and her college sweetheart have been married for thirty years and are blessed with two wonderful sons, two feisty cats and a bossy border collie.

When not dreaming up inspirational tales, Hope enjoys hiking, sipping tea with friends and going to the movies. She loves to hear from readers, who can contact her at hopewhiteauthor@gmail.com.

Small Town Protector

Hope White

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Faith is the substance of things hoped for,

the evidence of things not seen.

—Hebrews 11:1

For my dad, Lou,

who is practically perfect in every way.

Contents

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

DEAR READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

EXCERPT

One

The night cruises Lana offered to Salish Island were usually her favorite. But something felt off tonight.

Maybe it was the confrontation with a tourist who tried to bribe his way onto her boat, even after she’d explained they’d reached their capacity. Or maybe it was the sudden breeze that sent goose bumps down her arms. A sign of an unexpected storm and they should head back?

Yet right now it was so peaceful out here. She and her teenage staff had set up the tiki lights, food and hot beverages. Her guests were having a great time toasting hot dogs and marshmallows over the crackling campfire. A little girl climbed onto her daddy’s lap and he handed her a stick to wave over the fire.

Lana hated to cut the visit short, but safety was her number one priority. She’d call Anderson Greene for an update. The sailing fanatic was obsessed with the weather.

“Hello,” he answered, a bit out of breath.

“Hey, Anderson, it’s Lana. You okay?”

“Yep, just harder to get around with the sciatica acting up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“What can I do for you?”

“What’s the scoop on the weather tonight?”

“You’re not scheduling a trip to Salish, are you?”

“We’re already on island, why?”

“There’s a front coming in from the north. Last I heard…fifty-mile-an-hour—”

The line went dead.

“Anderson?”

Loss of communication, not a good sign. She decided to play it safe and head back. She’d give her customers coupons for her snack shop, Stone Soup, to make up for having to leave the island early.

Glancing across the group, she caught sight of her teenage helpers, Ashley and Sketch. They held hands as Sketch dangled a marshmallow over the flame.

Melancholy washed over Lana, but only for a second. She’d made herself a promise not to let the darkness consume her like it had years ago after Dad died.

Taking a deep breath, she forced a smile and wandered to the group of tourists.

“Hey, guys. This will have to be your last marshmallow. The weather’s a little quirky so we’re going to head back.”

A middle-aged couple stood, ready to go; a mom and dad with three kids encouraged them to finish their toasting; Ashley and Sketch shared a quick kiss and then started packing up supplies.

Lana did a quick head count. Odd. They were two short. She counted again. Sixteen, including herself. The boat’s capacity was seventeen plus Lana, which meant two people had wandered off. She checked her list of tourists on her smartphone. Yep, just as she thought: the teenage couple must have wandered off. Although she’d asked the guests to stay within sight of the campfire, she knew that some teens suffered from selective hearing.

She motioned to Sketch and Ashley. “We’re two short. Sketch, come with me.”

She grabbed a lantern and motioned him toward the trail leading to the north side of the island. Sketch glanced over his shoulder. The full moon illuminated the playful smile he shot back at Ashley.

“You guys are adorable,” Lana said. And truth be told, she was a bit envious.

She missed being in a relationship, having someone join her for a movie or hiking adventure in the nearby state park. Yet being in the wrong relationship was worse than being alone. She’d learned that the hard way during her eight months with Vincent.

“Why are we going this way?” Sketch asked.

“I’m guessing they went to Lover’s Point.”

“Why?”

“I was a teenager once.” A regretful smile played across her lips at the memory of young love. She often wished she hadn’t pushed Gregory away back in high school. But then, she’d fallen into a dark place after Dad had died and had pretty much pushed everyone away.

“If you and Ashley were out here alone, basking in the glow of a full moon, wouldn’t you head for the most romantic spot in the Pacific Northwest?” she teased.

A shrill scream cut through the air. Lana froze for a second. Did she really hear…?

A second scream echoed from the north end of the island. Lana and Sketch instinctively rushed toward the source of the sound. They zipped around Quinault Rock and spotted the two teenagers standing at the shoreline. The boy held his girlfriend in his arms, patting her back. Maybe they’d just had a fight?

“You guys okay?” Lana asked, out of breath.

Sketch poked Lana’s shoulder, then pointed at the water.

Lana glanced down…

Into the face of a bloated dead body.

* * *

What a fool. The man actually thought he could swim five miles back to Port Whisper from the island? In his shape?

It had been a mistake to hunt so close to home. I realize that now. But I couldn’t help myself. I saw how Rick Washburn bullied his female, how they fought, how he made her cry….

Adrenaline had surged through my body. It had been a month since I deleted Lars Gunderson. Too long. So I lured Ricky to the island for a private tour.

Unfortunately he didn’t enjoy my game of control and defeat.

He ran. Dove. Drowned.

And now the Feds will invade my charming little town.

A pleasant, boring town. Just the way I like it.

But not anymore, not with the FBI sniffing around, trying to find me.

I’ll have to take care of that; redirect their attention.

Not so close to home this time.

* * *

FBI agent Garrett Drake couldn’t believe his current case had led him back to Port Whisper where the memories still burned fresh in his mind, and even more painful in his chest.

He’d think God was playing a trick on him except he didn’t believe in God. Not after everything he’d seen. Not after everything he’d lost.

Shove it back, way back.

His escort, Scooner Locke, pulled the motorboat up to the dock, and a man tied them off. Garrett didn’t like involving civilians, but the chief and his staff were all at the scene. Garrett jumped out of the boat and started up the dock. If the body was really Rick Washburn’s…

It was a game changer.

The killer had altered his pattern, which meant either he’d made a mistake—which would put Garrett that much closer to nailing him—or the killer was escalating.

Which made him less predictable and twice as dangerous.

“Special Agent Drake?” A man approached him. “I’m Chief Morgan Wright.”

They shook hands. The chief, mid-thirties, wore black jeans, a denim jacket and a Mariners baseball cap. He was probably off duty when he got the call.

“It’s up that hill on the left.” The chief led him along a trail.

“Who found him?”

“Two teenagers.”

“What were they doing out here at night?” Garrett asked.

“They were part of a tour group.”

“People tour the island at night?”

“Yep, they roast hot dogs and marshmallows around a campfire, tell ghost stories, that sort of thing. Lana started it about a year ago. It’s very popular.”

“Lana?”

“My sister-in-law, Lana Burns. She runs boat tours to the island out of her snack shop, Stone Soup. She’s the one who called in the body.”

The body. Possibly the latest victim of the Red Hollow Killer, a name inspired by the type of rope he used to strangle his vics.

The minute Garrett got the call that a floater looked a lot like his missing person, he’d busted tail to get to the scene. He didn’t want it to be Washburn, and not just because it meant Red Hollow went off script. It would also mean the killer had been here and maybe still was.

In the same town as Caroline, Garrett’s former mother-in-law.

Garrett’s ex-wife and son had lost enough thanks to his job. He wouldn’t allow them to lose a loving mother and grandmother, as well.

“If it’s Rick Washburn, the killer’s victimology has changed,” Garrett explained. “Which means he’s escalating, making him unpredictable and potentially more dangerous.”

“Changed, how?”

“Up to now, the victims are kidnapped and a ransom note is sent to the family, giving them, and us, the illusion that the victim can be saved. But before the ransom drop takes place, he leads us to the body, which is posed with very specific items. An empty bourbon bottle, cigar and black leather belt. The victim has been strangled with red hollow braided rope. Lab results indicate he’s been drugged with an oxy cocktail. I’m assuming, since Washburn floated up on shore, you didn’t find a bourbon bottle, cigar or belt near or on the victim?”

“No, sir.”

“Were there signs he’d been strangled?”

“Not that I could tell.”

“We know he was the next victim, yet he wasn’t posed or strangled. Do you have any idea why Washburn was in Port Whisper?”

“He checked into the Blue Goose Motel alone, but was seen around town with a female, brunette, mid-forties.”

“Probably a mistress. He has a history of cheating on his wife. Why didn’t she report him missing? We got the ransom email two days ago.”

“A witness saw them fighting, and later that night another witness saw her convertible peel out of the parking lot. They came in separate cars.”

“You’ve gathered a lot of information in the last hour.”

“Small-town grapevine. Sometimes it comes in handy.”

As they approached the scene, Garrett noticed a young woman sitting on a rock, a wool blanket draped across her shoulders. Long, light brown hair floated down her back. Garrett thought she was trembling, but couldn’t be sure.

“Is that one of the teenagers who found the victim?” Garrett asked.

“No, it’s Lana. You want to talk to her?”

“I’d like to see the body first.”

Garrett strode to the body and the chief introduced him to his deputy.

“Deputy Finnegan, this is Special Agent Drake from the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit.”

They shook hands.

“Good to meet you,” Finnegan said.

“Likewise.” Garrett snapped on a pair of gloves and crouched beside the body. Resignation washed over him. “It’s Washburn.” Fully clothed in a dress shirt, khaki pants and windbreaker. “Did you find red braided rope anywhere in the vicinity of where you pulled him from the water?”

“No, sir.”

Garrett turned Washburn’s head slightly. No ligature marks. Washburn was the next victim, yet at first glance this looked like an accidental drowning.

“I’m assuming your forensics team processed the scene before you pulled him out?” Garrett asked.

“Not yet.”

Garrett glanced at Chief Wright for an explanation.

“We’re a small town,” he said. “A county forensics team is on the way.”

Garrett didn’t want inexperience to mess up this investigation, but he knew things would go more smoothly if he worked with local law enforcement instead of being at odds with them.

“I’d like to speak with the forensics team as soon as they arrive.” Garrett stood and snapped off his gloves. “Where are the teenagers who found the body?”

“They went back to town with the tour group,” a light voice said.

Garrett turned to its source: Lana Burns. She rolled her neck and looked up at him with round, tired eyes.

“Who authorized that?” he asked the chief.

“I sent them back,” Lana answered, standing. “The kids were completely freaked, so I figured the sooner they went home, the sooner they’d calm down. They’ll be more helpful if they’re calm, right?”

She stepped up to him, a little too close for his taste, and he noticed her eyes were a remarkable shade of golden-green; her skin was flawless.

“What’s your email address?” she asked, focusing on her smartphone.

He didn’t answer at first, trying to figure out how someone who saw a dead body—he assumed her first—could be so calm, so…lovely.

Man, he needed about a week of sleep.

She glanced up, expectant. “I’ll email you the contact information for everyone on the tour tonight.”

He handed her a business card, then pulled a small notebook from the breast pocket of his suit.

“How about you?” he said.

She reached for his notebook and he found himself handing it to her. “Here are all my numbers. Cell, landline and the snack shop.”

“Are you too freaked to answer some questions?”

She handed him back the notebook. “Nope. Go for it.”

“Is this a usual thing, bringing people out here late at night?”

“It was only seven.” She planted her hands on her hips in self-defense. “I would never bring people out here if I didn’t think it was safe.”

“I wasn’t inferring—”

“I mean, I’ve been hosting the night cruises for a year now and we’ve never had any problems. People love sitting around a campfire and singing songs, roasting marshmallows and telling stories. I guess it reminds them of childhood or something. Happier times. Well, that and it’s breathtaking out here, quiet and peaceful, usually peaceful, but not so peaceful when a couple of teenagers find a dead body and—” She stopped midsentence. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Rambling. I do that when I’m nervous.”

“Am I making you nervous?”

“Of course you are.”

Garrett glanced up from his notepad, puzzled, and waited for her to continue her rambling. He found it…endearing. Focus, Drake.

“You’re tall and intimidating and your tone is, well, accusatory,” she said.

“Sorry.” Now she had him apologizing. “Back to my questions, do you usually bring your group to this part of the island?”

“Why shouldn’t I?”

“Miss Burns, I’m not accusing you of any impropriety.” However, he sensed that, no matter how politely he phrased his questions, he’d already put her on the defensive. He’d try a different tact. He refocused on his notebook. “Do people sign up for the tour in advance?”

“Usually, yes, although tonight I had some guy try to muscle in at the last minute.”

“Can you give me a description?”

“About sixty, five-nine or -ten, on the rotund side, with thinning brown hair and thick sunglasses. I never trust a person who won’t look me in the eye.”

Garrett instinctively looked up. “You have good instincts.”

“Wow, thanks.”

He ripped his gaze from her striking eyes and jotted down the description. “What was his demeanor?”

“Bossy, rude, maybe a little desperate.”

“Desperate?” Garrett’s hand froze on the page.

“Yeah, he had that look like if he didn’t get over here his world was going to end.”

Could it have been Red Hollow? Did he fear he hadn’t securely anchored his victim and knew he’d float to the surface prematurely? If this was the case, Lana Burns had seen him, up close.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

He glanced up and found her studying him with wide, golden-green eyes like she was reading his thoughts.

“What’s the schedule once you dock?” he asked, changing the subject.

“On day trips we spread out blankets and have a picnic, and for the night tours we roast wieners and marshmallows to make s’mores. I tell stories about the island and its history, the Nahali myth about an Indian girl who was saved from a freak storm by a fisherman and how they fell in love even though there was no way they could be together. Sometimes I’ll take the group up to Lover’s Point, usually not at night. The teenagers who found the body couldn’t resist, I guess.”

Of course not, they were young, romantic and naive.

As she rambled on, he put her in the naive category by the tone of her voice: hopeful and innocent. She had no idea of the danger she could have encountered tonight. He wasn’t sure how to tell her, or if he even should.

No, knowledge was ammunition.

“Miss Burns—”

“Lana.”

“Lana, I don’t want to alarm you, but I’m here because we’ve been tracking a serial killer.”

“I know, Morgan told me.”

Garrett glanced at Chief Wright and back to Lana.

“He’s my brother-in-law,” Lana explained.

“That’s great, but I’d rather the whole town not know about our case.”

“Uh, it’s probably too late. Small towns.” She shrugged.

Garrett took a deep breath. “At any rate, we have to consider the man you turned away tonight as a suspect.”

“You mean the serial killer?”

“Yes.”

“I doubt it.”

“Why’s that?”

“Aren’t serial killers supposed to be smart? He didn’t seem very smart, or very organized….”

Garrett sensed anxiety inspired her new round of rambling. She’d possibly been inches from a murderer. That realization would make anyone nervous.

Making direct eye contact, he touched her shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

“Really,” she said, cynicism lacing her voice.

Not the response he expected. He removed his hand. “I’m sorry, I’ve offended you again?”

“No, it’s fine. I’ve had people make promises lately and, well, never mind. What else do you need from me?” She eyed his notebook.

“Tell me about tonight, when you found the body, if it’s not too upsetting.”

“We were going to head back because of a change in the weather, but were missing two teenagers, so Sketch and I went looking for them.”

“Sketch?”

“The teenager who helps me out. I figured the kids headed up to Lover’s Point, so we came up here and heard a scream and found the couple and the dead body. That’s pretty much it.”

“You don’t seem that upset by the sight of a dead body.”

“It’s not my first.”

“Excuse me?”

“My dad. I was twelve.”

“Oh, sorry.”

Man, he kept stepping into trouble with this woman.

“But it’s weird, ya know, I mean, first the hole, then a dead body,” Lana said.

“What hole?”

“Up by Quinault Rock. Some animal or person digs a five-foot hole in the middle of an uninhabited island. What’s that about?”

Garrett glanced in the direction of the rock. “Interesting.”

“Not so interesting when you’re stuck down there for hours.”

He snapped his attention to her.

“Yes, I fell into a hole. Literally. No jokes, please.”

“I don’t joke.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.” She slapped her hand to her mouth. “I can’t believe I just said that. Sorry, I’ve been up since five and haven’t eaten anything substantial since, I don’t know, noon?”

“Why don’t you go on back to town? I’ll find you if I have more questions.”

“Great. Here’s my card.” She dug a colorful card out of her jeans pocket and passed it to him.

“Hey, Morgan,” she called. “Can I catch a ride back?”

Garrett motioned to the chief. “I’d like you to have one of your deputies escort Miss Burns back to town. I’m concerned about her safety.”

“Why?”

“She may have seen the killer.”

“Lana, you didn’t tell me—”

“It was some guy I turned away earlier tonight. It’s probably nothing.”

“Scott,” Chief Wright motioned his deputy over.

“No, Morgan, don’t,” Lana said. “I’ll be safe with Scooner.”

“I’d rather not involve civilians,” Garrett said.

“He’s a former SEAL and Town Safety captain. She’ll be safe with him.”

Garrett acquiesced. “Please ask him to escort her all the way home,” Garrett suggested.

“Will do,” the chief said. “Forensics just docked.”

Garrett nodded at Lana. “Thank you, Miss Burns.”

Lana pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Good night, Agent Drake.”

With an arm around her shoulder, Chief Wright walked her past the forensics team, who made their way up the hill to the crime scene. Garrett fought the urge to call out one last warning, to ask if she had pepper spray or suggest she stay with a family member tonight.

Not good. He had to stop letting his protective instincts distract him and focus on finding Red Hollow. He could still be here, in Port Whisper, a threat to innocents like Lana.

A threat to his son’s grandmother.

The pain of losing his family rushed to the surface. Being back in Port Whisper where he’d asked for Olivia’s hand in marriage, where they’d planned a future they’d never have, was messing with him. Big-time.

It was distracting his focus from tracking a killer and protecting a fragile innocent, Lana Burns. The best thing he could do for her and everyone in town was leave the past behind and focus on the case.

Yet he needed to stop by his former mother-in-law’s place. He owed Caroline more respect than to have her find out about his presence in town through the gossip mill.

The experience wouldn’t be a pleasant one. He was sure she hadn’t forgiven him, and he couldn’t blame her. His ambition, his workaholic nature inherited from his father, put his wife and, at the time, three-year-old son in danger fourteen years ago.

“Agent Drake?”

Garrett snapped his attention to Deputy Finnegan.

“This is our forensic investigator, Oliver Marsh,” he introduced. They shook hands.

With a slow, deep breath, Garrett shoved his personal connections to this town away, locking the door. Analyzing his mistakes and regrets would only distract him from his most critical goal: finding the elusive killer before he struck again.

* * *

An hour later the forensic investigator offered his preliminary opinion: time of death was between 3:00 and 7:00 p.m.; there was dirt and blood under Washburn’s fingernails as if he had tried to claw his way out of something; and he’d most likely drowned. He wasn’t strangled like the rest of the victims.

That change in pattern disturbed Garrett the most. His team relied on the profile, designed to help them determine what the killer might do next, to whom and where.

They docked at Port Whisper and the forensic techs took the body to the lab where they’d continue their analysis. The chief took Garrett to meet with the teenagers who found the body, but they couldn’t offer anything helpful. They were still traumatized by the image of the dead man’s eyes staring up at them.

It was quarter past eleven. Garrett was tired, hungry and frustrated.

“I don’t suppose anything’s open this time of night?” he asked as the chief drove Garrett back to his car.

“Actually, the Turnstyle is open until midnight. Up Main Street about four blocks.”

“Thanks.”

The chief pulled over. “I’m assuming you’ll come by the office in the morning?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a place to sleep tonight?”

“I’ll find something.”

“You could always try Caroline Ross’s place, the Port Whisper Inn. It’s quiet and homey.”

And loaded with land mines.

“Thanks.”

“See you tomorrow.” The chief shook Garrett’s hand.

Garrett sensed the man was honorable and had decent instincts for a small-town cop. “Good night.”

Walking through town to the restaurant, Garrett called team member Georgia Hunt and told her to send a forensic artist to Port Whisper, but there was no reason the entire team should join him just yet. They should stay in Tacoma and continue to work leads from the previous murder.

Garrett, on the other hand, wasn’t going anywhere until he felt confident his former mother-in-law wasn’t in danger.

He could swing by the inn now, but it was late and he didn’t want to alarm her. Like a morning visit would be any less alarming? She probably never expected to see or hear from him again, maybe even hoped…

But he knew in his heart that sending Olivia and Steven into protective custody had been the only way to protect them from the serial killer that had made Garrett a target.

A year later, Olivia had filed for divorce. Truth was, their marriage started to crumble about the same time his career took off, shortly after Steven was born. Garrett threw himself into work to provide for his family, and Olivia accused him of being a workaholic, absent, aloof.

Like his old man.

Garrett hadn’t planned to become a workaholic like his father, but the job quickly consumed him. They’d solve a case, and another would pop onto the radar. They’d save a victim, but lose three more.

His work ethic intensified once the divorce was final and Garrett had no one to think about but himself.

That wasn’t true. He thought about Steven. Every single day of his life.

Three years after he’d put his wife and son into the program, the killer who’d targeted Garrett was shot eluding police. The threat gone, Garrett could safely see his son, who’d just turned six. Yet Olivia said if Garrett truly loved Steven, he’d let her new husband raise him as his own. Garrett couldn’t walk away that easily.

Heart pounding, he’d swung by Steven’s baseball game and stood by the fence, watching as his son scored the winning run. The little guy was swarmed by teammates and when he broke free he rushed to his stepdad, Kurt, and slapped him a high five.

At that moment Garrett knew it was selfish to insinuate himself back into Steven’s life. Steven had a new dad, one who’d always be there.

Garrett’s son was better off without him, without a workaholic father unable to give him the time, guidance and love he so desperately needed. Garrett retreated, as Olivia had requested.

It was the right thing to do. His former mother-in-law had to respect him for putting Steven’s needs first, right?

“This town,” he muttered, shutting off the flow of memories, questionable decisions and regrets. He couldn’t let his emotions distract him from finding a serial killer.

The glow of florescent lights spilled onto the street from the Turnstyle Restaurant up ahead—a lot of activity for a small town this late at night. Then again, if they’d heard about the murder, they probably needed to get together and process. More like gossip. Garrett knew how small towns worked.

He pushed open the door to the restaurant and hesitated, fearing someone would figure out he was the federal agent and ask him questions. A few people glanced up.

A female server with a name tag that read Anna approached him. “Table for one?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ma’am? So formal.” She smiled and he tried to offer one in return but couldn’t. She was not quite thirty with long, auburn hair tied back.

“Do you have a booth in the back?” he asked.

“Sure.”

He followed her to the rear of the restaurant, slid into a booth, and she handed him a menu.

“Are you serving breakfast this time of night?” he asked.

“You bet. Boomer’s blueberry pancakes are amazing.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Start you off with something to drink?”

“Coffee would be great.”

“Regular or decaf?”

“Regular, please.”

She breezed off and he glanced at the menu, trying to look like a tourist in town for some R & R, something he’d rarely experienced in his adult life. Dressed in his crisp navy suit, starched white shirt and maroon tie, he looked nothing like a man on vacation.

From this vantage point he could see everything: a man in workman’s clothes seated at the counter; Scooner Locke and two middle-aged men deep in conversation; a table of four raucous teenagers; and a young couple in the booth next to Garrett, blindly eating while an infant slept in a baby carrier next to them.

Anna returned with his coffee. “What can I get you?”

“I’ll try the blueberry pancakes.” He passed her the menu and closed his eyes, trying to relax the muscles coiling in his neck.

“Lana? Weren’t you supposed to stay home tonight?”

Garrett opened his eyes and caught sight of the ethereal Lana Burns standing just inside the door.

One of the men at Scooner’s table waved her over. “Come over here and give us the scoop on the…” He glanced around the restaurant and thought better of announcing to the room that a dead body had been discovered. “Come join us.”

“No, you get back home,” Scooner said. “I had orders to make sure you stayed there.”

“Both of you stop bossing me around. I need to eat.” She turned to Anna, who poured coffee for a customer at the counter. “How fast can Lew make me some pancakes?” Lana asked.

She wasn’t supposed to be alone, wandering the streets late at night. She wasn’t supposed to be so…enchanting. He had the urge to jump out of the booth and scold her for not following his order to stay home, but she’d been through enough tonight. She didn’t need a lecture from Garrett. He’d wait until she’d finished her pancakes, then he’d follow her home to make sure she was safe.

Leaning across the counter, chatting with her friend, no one would ever guess Lana Burns had seen a dead body only hours ago. She cracked a full-blown smile that lit up her face. It took Garrett’s breath away.

He pulled out his notebook and fought the distraction of her gentle voice drifting across the restaurant. Maybe it was time to consider dating again, pursuing a relationship that involved more than investigative theories and hunting killers.

Who was he kidding? There was no place in his life for romance. He’d never put someone he cared about in danger again, and as long as he worked for the FBI, that’s exactly where they’d be.

Focusing on his notes, he hoped Lana didn’t decide to join him for a late-night snack. He didn’t have the energy to keep his protective shields up, and for some reason he needed them with this woman. What was it about her that rattled his focus?

She had no pretense. She said what she thought without reservation or censor. There was no guesswork with the petite beauty, no maneuvering to get what he needed. All he had to do was ask, and she’d answer him truthfully and more than a bit directly.

The restaurant door flew open and a teenage boy wearing a torn denim jacket and black baseball cap stormed inside. His bloodshot eyes frantically scanned the restaurant. Garrett’s instincts spiked.

“Table for one?” Anna asked from behind the counter.

Lana turned to him and…

The kid whipped out a knife. “I need money.”

Two

Garrett automatically slid his hand inside his jacket to reach for his gun. The room went suddenly quiet except for the sound of the baby fussing in the booth next to him. He couldn’t open fire, not with all these civilians in the room. The perp could easily use one as a shield.

“Money, yeah, don’t we all,” Lana joked. “I was about to have a plate of Boomer’s blueberry pancakes, but it’s always too much food. Wanna split it with me?”

The kid looked confused. “What?”

“Pancakes, you know, flour, milk, butter, lots of butter. Come on. Anna, put in an order of Boomer’s for me, ’kay?” Lana wandered to the front booth, away from other customers.

Smart girl. One of the men in the booth up front shifted—the navy SEAL. Not good. If he jumped to the rescue, he could spook the kid. The thought of the teenager pressing the blade to Lana’s throat made Garrett grip the Formica table. He had to get up there and diffuse the situation.

Lana sat down and smiled up at the teenager, actually smiled at a kid who was waving a knife in her face.

“Aren’t you hungry? I’m starving,” she said. “Haven’t eaten since scones at lunch. Mom makes the best cranberry nut scones. Spread a little clotted cream on them and you’re a fan for life. You’ve gotta try them sometime.”

As she rattled on, Scooner started to shift out of the booth. Lana glanced at him and shook her head, encouraging him not to come to her rescue. Scooner hesitated on the edge of his seat.

“Anna, how about some tea?” she called across the restaurant, then redirected her attention to the kid. “Or do you prefer soda? They make the best cream sodas, my personal kryptonite. I could drink them for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And gain ten pounds in a week. Not good for someone who’s barely five-three.” She tapped on the table with her fingertips. “Come on, sit down.”

The kid took a step toward the table, clutching the knife. Garrett’s hand tingled with the need to draw his firearm.

“Don’t you like pancakes?” she asked with innocent eyes.

“I don’t have any money,” the kid croaked.

“No problem. I’ve got a little extra tonight. We had a really good week on my tour boat. I take people over to Salish Island. Do you live around here? I’m a lifer but I don’t remember meeting you. Sorry, I was probably your babysitter or something, right?” she joked.

“I’m not from here.” The kid closed the knife and shoved it in his pocket.

Scooner stood.

“Sit down,” Lana said.

The kid joined her in the booth, figuring she was talking to him.

“You, too, Scooner,” she ordered, not breaking eye contact with the teenager.

“Where are you from?” she asked.

He shrugged.

“Well, besides having the best blueberry pancakes in the state of Washington, our state park has awesome trails if you like hiking, and sailing on Puget Sound is a blast. You ever been sailing?”

Was it just Garrett, or was she being incredibly trusting? Either that or he should hire her for his team.

The kid seemed to have calmed down, but Garrett couldn’t be sure he’d stay that way. As Garrett swung his leg out of the booth, the front door opened. Deputy Finnegan stepped into the restaurant and approached Lana’s table.

“Everything okay here?” he asked.

“Great. We’re about to have pancakes, right?” She eyed the teen.

“Yeah.” His shoulders slumped. He took out the knife and placed it on the table.

Deputy Finnegan motioned Lana out of the booth. She took a few steps toward the counter, but she wasn’t far enough away for Garrett’s taste.

“Anything else in your pockets?” Finnegan asked the kid.

The teen pulled his pockets inside out. They were empty. Finnegan pocketed the knife.

“You’d better come with me.”

The kid stood, head hung low, and Finnegan cuffed him.

“Wait, I didn’t get your name,” Lana said.

The kid glanced at her through long bangs. “Michael.”

“Nice to meet you, Michael. I’ll bring pancakes by the police station.” She turned her attention to the deputy. “Is that okay, Scott?”

Garrett leaned back in his booth, his jaw dropping in disbelief.

“Sure,” Deputy Finnegan said, shaking his head.

“Cool. I’ll see you later, okay, Michael?”

Michael glanced over his shoulder, and that’s when Garrett saw the tears streaming down the kid’s face.

“You have something you want to say to Lana?” Finnegan asked.

“Thanks,” he choked.

“Something else?” the cop prompted.

“Sorry.”

“I forgive you,” Lana said.

The deputy led Michael out of the restaurant.

Dead silence filled the restaurant. Lana glanced at the customers. “What?”

“What were you thinking?” Scooner challenged.

“I was thinking you were going to freak the kid out with your macho karate moves, and kick me in the head by mistake.” One of the other guys at the table chuckled.

“Lana, I can’t believe you did that.” Anna darted around the counter and gave her a hug.

The young couple packed up their baby and left cash on the table, the teenagers burst into a frenzied discussion about what just happened, and the man at the counter pulled a small flask from his jacket and poured something into his coffee. Garrett couldn’t blame him.

Nor could he take his eyes off Lana Burns. She went to her table and leaned back against the booth.

Why did she put herself at risk like that?

Anna suddenly blocked his line of vision. “Did you need cream and sugar?” she asked him.

“Sure,” he said, then caught himself. “I mean, no, thanks. I take it black.”

“It’s gonna be a few minutes for the pancakes because of the distraction, but it’ll be worth the wait.”

“Thanks.” A distraction? Is that what they called it?

Garrett got out of his booth and started for Lana’s table, but Scooner and his friends beat him to it. Garrett wished he’d gotten there first. Scooner shifted next to her in the booth.

“I’m fine, go on.” She shoved at Scooner’s shoulder. “Stop hovering.”

“I’ll escort you home.”

“Thanks, but I haven’t eaten my pancakes yet and you guys are done with your meal.”

“I’ve got this,” Garrett said, shifting into the booth across from her. “I need to ask Miss Burns a few more questions anyway.”

He held her gaze, trying to figure out if she was relieved or more irritated that yet another man was strong-arming his way into her protective services.

“And who are you?” one of Scooner’s friends asked.

“He’s the FBI agent I told you about,” Scooner explained to his friend. “Agent Drake, this is Anderson Greene and Bill Roarke.”

Garrett shook hands with the men.

Anderson wore wire-framed glasses and leaned on a cane, and Bill had jet-black hair, trimmed short, and a mustache and had a notebook tucked under his arm.

“If there’s anything we can do to help with the case…” Anderson offered.

“Thanks, I appreciate that.”

“For the record, I made sure Lana was safe in her apartment and figured she’d stay there for the night,” Scooner said in apology.

Garrett glanced at Lana for an explanation.

“Mom called, worried sick about what happened so I had to go calm her down. Then I was too hyped up to sleep, so I took a walk and stopped in for some pancakes.”

“Gentlemen, thanks for your concern, but I’ve really got this,” Garrett said, hoping they’d take the hint.

Scooner didn’t move at first. The kind of guy you definitely wanted on your side.

“I’ll make sure she gets home safely,” Garrett said.

“Good luck keeping her there.” Scooner slipped out of the booth, and the men wandered out of the restaurant.

Garrett directed his attention to Lana, who looked oddly calm considering what just happened. “I’m not sure if I should be impressed or…”

“Or…?”

“Your interaction with Michael could have gone a completely different way.”

“I suppose.” She glanced out the front window and fingered a silver cross dangling from her necklace. He noticed her hand tremble slightly, probably from the adrenaline rush.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

She cracked a wry smile. “I’m fantastic.”

“Miss Burns, I study human behavior for a living. Try again.”

* * *

The handsome agent wasn’t letting Lana off that easy. Handsome? Really, Lana? After what happened to you, you’re crushing on the enigmatic agent with the intense brown eyes?

“Lana?” he prodded.

She stretched out her hands on the Formica table to ground herself. “For someone who found a dead body earlier tonight, and had to order pancakes while being threatened at knife-point, I’d say I’m doing pretty good.”

“What made you do it? Talk to him like that?” he said, his voice softer than before.

“I couldn’t risk him threatening someone else who’d pull a stupid move and get hurt. Like Scooner.” She shuddered. “He means well, but that could have been a disaster.”

“Let me get this straight. You put yourself in danger to protect a former navy SEAL, trained to do battle with the enemy?”

“Well, when you say it like that, I sound wacky.”

“And you assumed you could talk the teenager out of stabbing you because…?”

“You said I had good instincts,” she shot back.

With a frustrated shake of his head, he sipped his coffee.

Truth was, only now did she realize what could have happened. But Lana believed in the human spirit and the grace of God. She knew danger when she saw it, and Michael wasn’t dangerous. He was desperate.

“Michael didn’t want to hurt anyone,” she offered. “He was hungry.”

“And you knew this how?”

“I saw it in his eyes.” She shrugged. “He made a bad decision, but we all deserve a second chance.”

“You could have been seriously injured. Are you always this impulsive?”

“Impulsive, huh? I’ll have to add that to the list. It’s a long one depending on who you ask. If you asked my sister, she’d say I was disorganized, overly trusting and persuasive, bordering on manipulative, whereas the ex-boyfriend said I was controlling, too frugal and obstinate about the wrong things. At least in his opinion they were the wrong things.”

She was rambling. She knew it. With Michael she’d kept talking to distract him from doing something he’d regret but now, well, the full weight of what had just happened twisted her stomach into knots.

“But then, what do ex-boyfriends know, right?” she continued. “He also thought I should stop giving tours, sell my snack shop and get a real job, you know, like working at a call center or selling insurance. I could go back to school I guess, but I’ve only got a few thousand in savings and—”

“Breathe,” Agent Drake interrupted.

“What?”

“You’re going to pass out if you don’t take a breath. Am I making you nervous again? I could…” He motioned to get up.

“No.” She automatically reached out, but her hand came up short of his fingers, looped through his coffee mug handle.

Anna delivered Lana’s tea and glanced at the agent. “Oh, so you’re over here now?”

Agent Drake hesitated before answering.

“Yes, he’s joining me for dinner,” Lana said.

“You mean breakfast?” Anna smiled.

“That, too.”

“Pancakes should be out shortly.” Anna winked and breezed off.

Truth was, Lana hated eating alone and since her breakup with Vincent, she’d been doing a lot of that lately. Flying solo.

Flying solo? You could have had your wings clipped, girl.

But Lana had to help Michael. She recognized something in the teen’s eyes and it wasn’t the desire to hurt anyone. She’d seen it in Sketch’s eyes, her talented, seventeen-year-old computer assistant.

“I’m going with impressed,” the agent suddenly said.

She eyed him. “What?”

“I’m impressed by how you handled that teenager.”

“Wow, can I get a junior FBI badge or something?”

“Don’t push it.”

He looked surprised, like he hadn’t meant to utter the playful retort. She thought he might have even cracked a smile but couldn’t be sure. It would be a vast improvement on his permanent frown, his lips stretched into a thin, straight line.

“I’d like to ask a favor of you,” he said.

“Sure.”

“Promise me you’ll never do that again?”

“You mean…”

“Insinuate yourself into a dangerous situation like that.”

Lana dunked her tea bag in the hot water and sighed. He was asking the impossible. She couldn’t turn her back on someone who was in so much pain they were blinded to the beauty of life and the grace of God. She knew how precious life was, and how short it could be.

“I’m sorry, I can’t make that promise,” she said.

“May I ask why?”

“You may ask.”

“But you won’t tell me, will you?”

She shrugged.

“Ignoring a direct order. You’re definitely not getting that junior agent badge.”

She smiled to herself at his unexpected response. He wasn’t berating her for not answering; rather, he respected her space.

“Two orders of Boomer’s blueberry pancakes.” Anna slid a plate in front of Garrett, and a double order in front of Lana.

“Whoa, that’s a lotta pancakes,” Lana said.

“The hero of the evening gets a double order. On the house.”

“I knew risking my life would pay off.” She snapped her attention to Anna. “Sorry, that was a weird thing to say.”

“It’s okay.” She touched her shoulder. “You’ve had a stressful night.”

“Yeah, nothing like a plate of Boomer’s to make it all better. Can I get a to-go box? I’m bringing half of this to Michael.”

“That kid who—”

“Yep, that one.” Lana stuck her fork into the pancakes and cut the pile in a perfect half. “Thanks,” she said to her friend who hovered, probably dumbfounded that Lana was serious about bringing dinner to Michael.

“A to-go box. Check,” Anna said.

Agent Drake slid the tray of syrups in front of Lana. “Can I try for another favor?”

“Sure.” She squirted maple syrup on her half of the stack.

“Once I drop you off at home, can you promise not to go out again tonight?”

“Now that, I can do.”

* * *

When her alarm went off the next morning at six-thirty, Lana didn’t even bother hitting the snooze button. She lowered the volume on a Jonny Diaz song and let the soulful timbre of his voice lull her back to sleep. Just for a little while. She’d earned it. She knew once she started her day the phone would ring nonstop with questions about last night’s drama: a dead body, a teenager threatening a restaurant full of people…

A handsome FBI agent joining Lana for dinner, taking her by the police station to drop off pancakes, then escorting her home. She didn’t want to think about how that story was going to evolve by lunchtime.

There was no story, just a Federal agent doing his job. And last night he’d made it his job to get Lana home safely, to make sure she did not “encounter any more personal threats.” His words.

During their meal he’d asked if she’d meet with a sketch artist to create an image of the man who’d tried to force his way onto the tour boat last night. Lana was pretty sure the guy was a pushy businessman used to getting his way. She’d encountered a few of those since she’d started Delightful Tours.

But she’d rarely encountered men like Agent Drake, sophisticated and imposing in his crisp dark suit, with intimidating eyes that challenged her whenever he glanced in her direction. He did the whole “brooding male” thing exceptionally well. Probably came with the job description.

Yet last night, after Lana talked a teenager out of stabbing her, the agent offered Lana a compassionate shoulder. He’d even teased her a few times. An image of his slight smile drifted across her thoughts… .

She imagined sitting at the Turnstyle across the table from him, sharing a plate of pancakes, only this time he wore a knit shirt and jeans. His hair wasn’t perfectly combed, rather it was mussed in front, and he had a sparkle in his eye… .

Pounding made her jackknife in bed. Heart racing, she scanned her bedroom and realized she’d fallen into a deep sleep. She glanced at the clock. It read 7:14.

Persistent knocking echoed through her apartment. Someone was trying to wake her up.

She slipped on her robe, fastened it in front and hesitated at the front door. She checked the peephole and spotted Agent Drake hovering in her hallway. She stepped back. He knocked again. With a quick breath she opened the door.

“Good morning,” she said, surprised to see him at her place so early.

“It’s not too early, is it? I was able to get a sketch artist. He’ll be here in half an hour.” He cast a quick glance at her robe, then averted his eyes. “Sorry. Chief Wright said you’re always up by seven.”

“I usually am. Do you want to come in?”

“No, I’ll wait by the car. I have to make some calls.”

“Oh, okay. Give me twenty minutes.”

“Take your time.” He turned and went down the stairs.

“Hey, wait a second, isn’t that the same suit you had on last night?”

He turned. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

“You mean you were up all night?”

“I’ll be in the car.”

“I’ll bring coffee.”

“Great, thanks.”

She shut her door and rushed into the kitchen to put the coffee on. Talk about a man dedicated to his job. He hadn’t slept? He was up all night? Doing what? You couldn’t interview potential witnesses at three in the morning.

Whatever the reason, she felt safer knowing how determined he was to find whoever killed the man who’d washed up on Salish Island.

* * *

Lana showered and was dressed in fifteen minutes. She filled two travel mugs with coffee and pulled a couple of Mom’s cranberry-nut scones from the freezer and defrosted them in the microwave. She bagged them, grabbed her purse and coffees and headed out.

When she opened the apartment building door, she spotted the agent’s car across the street in the exact spot he’d parked it last night when he’d accompanied her upstairs.

Wait a sec, he couldn’t have stayed there all night, could he? Watching her? He was taking a swig from a blue, reusable water bottle when she crossed the street and handed him a coffee. “This will wake you up faster than water.”

“Thanks.” He opened the car door and put it in the cup holder.

“Don’t tell me you slept in your car last night.”

“Okay, I won’t.” He went around the front of the sedan and opened the door for her.

“If you weren’t a federal agent, I would be seriously creeped out.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m a federal agent.” He shut her door.

He was worried about her, his potential witness. Garrett probably figured Lana was his best lead on this case. As she shifted the bag of scones onto the console between them, she reminded herself his interest in her was strictly professional.

He got into the car and she motioned toward the bag. “I brought scones for breakfast.”

“When did you have time to bake scones?”

She smiled. “I baked them in my sleep.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“They’re my mom’s. She’s always trying to outbake her friend Caroline, who owns the Port Whisper Inn.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he pulled away from the curb. “Thanks, I’ll have mine when we get to the P.D.”

“You didn’t really sit outside my apartment all night, did you?”

“Not all night.”

No, Garrett stopped by his former mother-in-law’s place early this morning, hoping to get the awkward encounter over with. No one answered when he knocked, which seemed odd since she ran an inn out of her home. Maybe she didn’t have any guests.

More likely she saw him from an upstairs window and chose not to open her door. He couldn’t blame her. There was too much history there, too much pain.

“You okay?” Lana asked.

“Yep.”

He’d be better once she gave a description to the sketch artist and Garrett could get traction on this case.

“I may not study people for a living, but I’m going to make an educated guess that you’re really not okay,” she said.

“I’m tracking a serial killer.”

“No, it’s something else.”

How on earth was this woman able to read him so easily? Not good. Garrett prided himself on being able to keep the ugly corners of his mind private, hidden, even from his own team.

“I’m tired. Didn’t get much sleep,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

He cast her a sideways glance. “It’s not your fault.”

“You were sleeping in your car because of me.”

“Partly, and partly because I didn’t have time to get a room. So, how about loading up a scone on a napkin for me?” he said to divert her.

Truth was, he shouldn’t have slept outside her place, but something was nagging at him. And not just her captivating golden-green eyes.

She reached into the bag and grabbed a scone with a pale blue napkin. When she handed it to him, his fingers brushed against her soft and delicate hand. He snapped up the scone and took a bite.

“You know where to turn?” she said.

He swallowed. “Yep.”

“Is it too dry?”

“What?” He turned onto Third Street.

“The scone?”

“It’s perfect.”

Like the woman sitting next to him. Whoa, he was suffering from a serious case of sleep deprivation. Regardless that she seemed pretty perfect—strong, confident and beautiful—Garrett wasn’t in the market, not now, nor in the foreseeable future. Not as long as he worked for the BAU.

She pulled out a scone for herself. As they drove through town, he realized they must look like a couple eating in companionable silence on their way to work. He placed his scone on the console and sipped his coffee.

“How long do you think the meeting with the sketch artist will take?” she asked.

“Depends on you, I guess. Why?”

“I’m supposed to take a tour group out to the island.”

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to cancel your tours for a few days. It’s still a crime scene.”

“Oh, right. I’d better notify my customers.” She pulled out her phone.

Was the killer scheduled to be on Lana’s tour boat today? No, now Garrett was completely drifting off course. Red Hollow was about kidnapping, demanding ransom and killing very specific victims: aggressive, domineering men. He didn’t randomly choose victims so there was no reason for Lana to be in personal danger.

Unless Red Hollow considered her a threat.

Garrett pulled into the police parking lot and spotted a familiar car. Georgia must have brought the sketch artist. Garrett hoped she left the rest of the team back in Tacoma to work the case. There was no reason to relocate to Port Whisper until they knew for sure they were dealing with Red Hollow.

As they approached the door, a teenage girl with flushed cheeks raced up to them. “Lana! He’s gone. I’ve been texting all night, and he hasn’t answered and—”

“Shhh, calm down, Ashley.” She motioned to Garrett. “This is Agent Drake.”

“Hi,” Ashley croaked, turning her attention back to Lana. “Sketch is missing and I’m afraid he did something stupid, like try to find out who killed that guy and—”

“Hold on, take a deep breath.” Lana placed her hands on Ashley’s shoulders and they both took a deep breath together, then another. “Okay, start from when you guys got home last night.”

“We went to Sketch’s house and my parents came over and talked with his gran about the dead guy. My dad said he heard that an FBI Agent named Drake was at the scene, and everyone started freaking out that the killer is local and his gran was really upset and Sketch said not to worry, that he’d protect her, and she, like, flipped out and ran upstairs. We left, but Sketch texted me later and said he was going to find the killer.”

“How was he going to do that?” Garrett asked.

“I don’t know. Go back to the scene? Check out security footage?”

“How could he get access to security footage?”

“He’s a computer genius,” Lana offered. “He can find anything, anywhere, online.”

“In other words, he’s a hacker,” Garrett said.

“He’s helped the local police with cases,” Lana argued. “You can ask Morgan.”

Great, what Garrett didn’t need was a complication in the form of a meddling teenager. “I’m sorry, Ashley, but Lana needs to meet with a sketch artist for the murder case. She’ll have to help you find your friend when she’s done.”

Lana squeezed the girl’s hands. “Did you call his grandmother?”

“No one’s answering.”

“She goes for her morning walk around this time. Try her in half an hour, okay?”

The girl nodded, but still looked shaken.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Lana said. “He probably fell asleep at the pier and that’s why he isn’t returning your texts. He’s done that before, right?”

“I guess.”

“Would you feel better if we said a quick prayer?”

The teen nodded.

Lana held Ashley’s hands and closed her eyes. Garrett automatically took a step back, afraid he’d somehow ruin the divine moment.

“Dear Lord, please keep watch over our friend, Sketch,” Lana started. “He’s a brave young man who deeply loves his family and wants to protect them. Help him avert danger and find his way back home to us. Amen.”

Lana opened her eyes and shot Ashley a smile that warmed even Garrett’s numb heart. “Keep the faith, sweetie. He’ll be okay.”

Ashley nodded and seemed to have calmed down. Too bad Garrett couldn’t feel that kind of inner peace from a prayer. He escorted Lana into the police station and was greeted by Georgia and Chief Wright.

“Georgia, thanks for bringing the sketch artist,” Garrett said.

“I figured we had to move fast.” She eyed Lana. “Is this the witness?”

“Yes. Lana Burns, this is Agent Hunt,” Garrett introduced.

“Nice to meet you,” Lana said, then gave the chief a hug. “Hey, Morgan.”

Georgia leaned toward Garrett. “Friendly town.”

“He’s married to her sister.”

“Ah. People still do that, huh? Get married?” Georgia teased.

“That’s what I hear.”

But not Garrett, or Georgia, or anyone else in their line of work.

“Why don’t you two sit over here?” Chief Wright led Lana and the forensic artist to a quiet corner.

“What do you want to do while she’s working with him?” Georgia asked.

“Why don’t you interview other passengers from last night’s cruise? I’m going to stay with Lana.”

“Lana?” Georgia raised an eyebrow at his use of her first name.

“That’s her name,” he shot back.

Georgia’s expression faded. She was being coy, but Garrett wasn’t in the mood for anything but finding a killer and getting out of town.

“I texted you contact information for tourists this morning.”

“Yep, got it.”

“It’s nearly eight. Shouldn’t be too early to question them.”

“What about forensics?”

“They’ll call when they have something.”

“I’ll check in later, then.”

Garrett sensed she wanted to catch his eye, but he was focused on Lana. A part of him hoped she’d seen the killer; another part prayed she didn’t because it would make her a target.

Prayed? Really, Garrett? You have no right to pray.

Garrett spent the next hour checking leads through emails and phone calls. Everything led to dead ends.

“Wow, that’s really good,” Lana said from across the room.

The sketch artist flipped the pad around so Garrett could see it. “I’ll send this—”

The door swung open and a frantic woman rushed into the station. Not just any woman—Garrett’s former mother-in-law, Caroline Ross. She rushed up to the chief, so upset she didn’t even notice Garrett.

“Morgan, I can’t find Sketch. He didn’t come home last night and Ashley said he stopped texting around two, and she said he was going to—”

She spotted Garrett and froze. An eerie silence blanketed the room.

Garrett stood. “Hello, Caroline.”

Her eyes welled with tears. “I can’t talk to you right now.” She motioned the chief outside.

“What was that about?” the sketch artist asked.

“She’s upset because her grandson is missing,” Lana offered.

“Her…grandson?” Garrett’s heartbeat sped up. The room seemed to tip sideways.

“Yeah, Sketch is her grandson,” Lana said.

It was the same nightmare that haunted his dreams for more than ten years, even after the serial killer was dead.

Only, this nightmare was real: his son was missing. Taken? Brutalized?

“You mean…Steven?” Garrett said, gripping the back of an office chair.

“How did you know his name?” Lana asked.

“Because he’s my son.”

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