Chapter Four

      The weatherman might not have been completely wrong. As Mark stepped out of his taxi, he wondered if he should have brought his jacket. His long sleeves might not cut it if the temperature dropped even further.

      It was just after dinner, and he was back at the bar he’d been at the night before. He had a feeling the place would be seeing a lot of him in the next few weeks, especially if this meeting went south. He’d finally called Kelli back and was surprised when she’d asked to meet him somewhere later that night. Nothing more was said beyond that, and now here he was, showing up a half hour early. Nerves or anticipation? He couldn’t tell which, but he made his way to one of the booths tucked into the corner. It gave him a clear sightline to the front doors.

      From habit, he took in his surroundings. Men and women of varying careers were all dressed down to some degree—one of the women at the table next to him had on flats, though a pair of heels could be seen sticking out of the bag at her feet, while the other had let her hair loose across her shoulders; an older man at the bar had his tie undone around his neck, beer in hand and eyes on the TV; a group of yuppies had their blazers draped over chair backs while they threw darts next to the front door; a man walked in and immediately went to the bar, hand up, ordering a beer.

      A few more patrons came in and before he knew it, the half hour had passed. Mark hadn’t spent enough time with Kelli Crane to know if she was punctual or not.

      No, he didn’t really know her at all.

      The Orion Security Group had done its homework on the now twenty-nine-year-old woman before the contract had started. It was imperative to do the research to make the protection side of the job most effective. He’d learned that Kelli Crane—formally McKinnely—had a degree in art therapy and worked with the elderly at the community center. She came from a small family that all but disappeared after a car crash killed her parents when she was young. Socially she had kept out of the spotlight, staying close with a childhood friend named Lynn.

      In that regard, she was quite the opposite of her late husband. Victor Crane had been a networker, thanks to his job. He had more connections than even Orion’s analyst had been able to uncover. Mark had tracked down as many as he could, trying to find a tie between the man’s death and the fire, but it was hard to find a link when you didn’t know what you were looking for in the first place.

      Mark couldn’t help but focus on the blonde as she paused to survey the room before meeting his gaze. There was no hesitation in her bright eyes. She made a beeline for him.

      Although he’d recognized her easily, he had to admit she looked different from the woman he’d known through the contract. Kelli walked with unmistakable purpose. Her once-long hair was shortened to her chin with bangs that cut straight over her eyebrows. The dirty blond had lightened as her skin had darkened—she’d been getting sun. He’d bet her kid had something to do with that. Instead of the almost prim outfits she had worn at the cabin, she was dressed more casually—a blue button-up with jeans and black flats. There was no flashy jewelry—he noticed no wedding ring, either—and even her purse seemed more practical than pretty.

      Seeing her made him wonder what he looked like in turn. Had he changed in the past two years?

      “Hi,” Kelli greeted him, sliding into the seat across from him without pause. Whatever was on her mind, it had her determined.

      “Hi,” he responded. Mark didn’t know what to feel, seeing her so informally, as if they were old friends reconnecting. The only thing they shared was a tragedy. Did she feel the same self-loathing he did?

      “Thanks for meeting me, by the way. I know it must be strange.”

      “It’s the least I can do.” He cleared his throat. “So, how have you been?”

      “Good. Busy, but good.”

      Mark smiled. It was the same thing he’d said to Nikki the day before. He wondered if Kelli actually meant it.

      In record time, the waitress popped over and took her drink order before they could dive in to their conversation. Kelli asked for beer and cracked a big smile. Mark couldn’t help but raise his eyebrow at her expression.

      “Sorry. I haven’t gotten out much since Grace.” She tamped her grin down a fraction. “And I certainly haven’t been to a bar and ordered beer. I almost feel like this is a minivacation.” Her smile instantly vanished, like a candle blown out. Silence followed as she dropped her gaze.

      “Kelli, why did you want to meet?”

      The blonde quirked her lips to one side as she concentrated. She was choosing her words carefully. Finally she found them.

      “After the fire, the cops came. You told them you’d seen a man running from the house,” she started. This time she didn’t shy away from his gaze. “When they picked up Darwin McGregor—” she paused, eyes momentarily glazing over with emotion “—you said it wasn’t the same person. At the time I didn’t even think to question it—he admitted to setting the fire—but now...”

      “But now?” he pressed.

      “Well, I think I should have listened to you.”

      Mark was an impassive man. He didn’t know if that was what had made him such a good bodyguard— before the fire—or if it had been the other way around. Sure, like anyone, he had emotions. He felt things like the next man. It was his ability to mask those feelings, those shifts in conversation that surprised him, that he had mastered through the years. However, as the words left Kelli Crane’s mouth, once again he had to struggle to keep from gaping.

      Not so much at their meaning. It was the implication behind them.

      “I don’t understand,” he said honestly.

      Kelli’s drink arrived, but she didn’t touch it. Her minivacation was apparently over.

      “The story Victor was working on at the cabin—did you ever read it?”

      “No.” Mark didn’t want to lie, but he also didn’t want to admit why he hadn’t. He’d tried before but even the headline had made his guilt expand. Reading the article was salt on the wound of not being able to save the man. If Kelli was offended, she didn’t show it.

      “The Bowman Foundation, a charity, had been operating anonymously in Texas for a few years but decided to go public. Victor did an in-depth spotlight on them—what they had already accomplished, what they hoped to accomplish, that sort of thing.” She moved her hand to hover over her purse but paused before placing it back on the tabletop. “It was published a week after the funeral.” Her smile was weak at the word. “While I was packing—we’re moving to a new house— I found Victor’s journal with a copy of his notes about the story. Now I’ve read the published article over and over again. I’ve memorized every detail.”

      “Okay...I’m not following.”

      “The two don’t match up.” He could tell she was getting frustrated, but at what or whom, he wasn’t sure.

      “The published story and the notes?” he asked.

      Kelli nodded. “Names, not important in the grand scheme of the foundation.”

      Mark took a drink of his beer. “So they got the facts wrong. What does this have to do with anything?”

      Kelli’s