Undercover Memories. Alice Sharpe
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curious. You got tired of him, right?”
“You think so?”
“Yes. Hard to picture someone skipping out on you, so you must have done the skipping. Then you came up here by yourself to get away from his incessant pleas to get back together. How am I doing?”
“Perfectly,” she said. Then she blinked, her eyes bright, and shook her head. “Actually, he left me. At the altar. In front of everyone when his ex-wife showed up for the wedding. The preacher said that line about anyone having doubts, and she stood up and announced she still loved him.”
“Ouch.”
“So I came on my honeymoon by myself. Pathetic, huh?”
“I think it’s kind of gutsy.”
“How about you show some guts? Come with me to talk to Jack Pollock. He’s a good man.”
“He’s a cop.”
“Ex-cop.”
“Same thing.”
“Well, there now, see? You know something about yourself after all. You don’t like the police.”
He finished off his eggs. “I also know cops are all alike.”
“That’s silly. Of course they aren’t. Anyway, I told you, he’s retired.”
“He’s still a gun-toting—”
“No, as a matter of fact, you’re wrong. His wife told me last night that he won’t have a gun in the house. He’s left all that behind him. And as for gun toting, that seems to describe you, doesn’t it?”
He stared at her a second and sighed. “Yeah, I guess so. Okay, you win, we’ll go see your friend.”
“Good. I’ll clean up and get dressed while you figure out how to get my car out of the ditch.”
He watched her turn to the sink. She was wearing a tight pair of jeans that made her rear look pretty damn enticing. She turned back, leaning down to take his plate, and their gazes locked. She wasn’t wearing a bra, which was evident every time she moved. The look in her eyes gave him the impression she knew exactly what he was thinking.
His gaze landed on something gold and silver and shiny hanging from a chain around her neck. It had slipped out from beneath her clothes when she leaned forward and now lay against her blue T-shirt between her breasts.
He sucked in his breath and didn’t know why.
“What is it?” she asked, her voice alarmed.
“Your necklace—”
“This?” She fingered the pendant. “Is something wrong with it?” she added as she lowered her gaze to look.
He shook his head, embarrassed by his visceral, gut-level reaction to such a silly thing.
“My father gave it to me,” she said. “It’s an owl, see? His little wings move up and down and his eyes are tiny topazes—”
She stopped talking, her expression alarmed. “You look spooked, John. Why?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. That thing just creeps me out.”
She slipped the owl under her shirt again. “All better?”
“Yeah,” he said, but even knowing it was there made him antsy. He pushed the chair away from the table. “I’ll see about the car,” he said, anxious to move around a little and get his feelings under control.
It took a shovel, three old boards and a little digging, but he freed the car just as Paige emerged from the cabin. She’d changed clothes and donned a coat. Beneath its unbuttoned contours, he could see the thin strap of her purse bisecting her torso. Looked as if she’d put a bra on under a blue sweater, which was a shame, but at least the damn pendant was covered.
With her bright eyes and fresh face, she looked like a coed on her way to a class—way too young for him, not just in years but in life experience.
Which was an odd thing to think, as he couldn’t recall any life experiences before about eighteen hours before, but he still knew it was true. The gun that felt so natural in his hand was a good indicator of that. He got into the passenger seat and she slid behind the wheel.
“How far away are these people?” he asked.
“About a mile. In fact, they’re closer to the river than I am. I’m surprised you didn’t stumble on them first. I can’t call ahead because my cell doesn’t work up in these mountains.”
“Maybe they won’t be home,” he said hopefully.
But a few minutes later they found a brand-new truck parked on a quiet wooded street in front of a modest green cabin. The few other houses around it looked empty.
Okay, one way or another he was going to have to trust a complete stranger, which come to think of it, pretty much described the entire population of the world except for Paige Graham. He sure hoped this didn’t turn out to be the mother of stupid ideas.
He followed Paige up the front steps, where she knocked on the door and rang the bell.
“Maybe they’re still asleep,” he said as they stood on their side of the unanswered door.
Paige tried the knob. The door opened as far as the dead bolt chain allowed. She called out, “Jack? Carolyn?”
There was no answer.
“Maybe they went for a walk,” Paige said. “That’s where I met them, on a morning hike in the forest.”
“Well, what a shame we missed them,” he said.
She started to close the door, then stopped. “No, they’re not out hiking. I can see Jack’s backpack over there on the floor. He told me he always takes it with him because he likes to be prepared.”
“A cop and a Boy Scout. Great.” He pointed at the steps. “There are no tracks in the snow except ours.”
“Maybe they’re around back.”
“In this weather?”
“Don’t give up so easily,” she said, and marched down the steps and around the house like a general off to mount an attack. Once again he followed.
But the back of the house was as empty as the front. Paige sighed and said, “Well, we struck out, I guess. I could leave a note, maybe, or something.”
He caught her hand and pointed at the back door. It was closed, but what had caught his attention were the tracks that crossed the small deck toward a smaller door that probably opened into a garage.
Paige tore her hand out of his and ran up the stairs to the deck. He called her name, begged her to stop, but she was inside the house in a flash and once again he followed.
He arrived in the kitchen to find more prints on the floor and Paige disappearing down the hall. The smell of death lay heavy in the heated house.
Paige turned into a room on the right, and then she screamed. The sound sent chills down John’s back as he raced to help her. Still screaming, she backed out of the room, hands held in front as though warding away evil, her gaze riveted on whatever lay within.
John grabbed her shoulders. She turned into his chest and buried her face against him, the screams morphing into sobs, her body shaking violently. He peered over her head.
An older woman lay in the bed as though she’d been killed in her sleep, her throat slit. Blood sprayed the wall behind her, soaked into her bedding, pooled on the floor.
“Where’s Jack?” Paige mumbled as John pulled her from the doorway.
Good question. Still holding on to each other, they searched the small house but found no sign of the old guy. “We have to get out of here,” John told her at last.
She