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Who else was looking for Martha? And why? “What did the gas attendant say?”
“He didn’t know where to find her, either.”
“Where do you think she might be?”
“You’re asking me?” He pressed a hand to his chest, which gave like a sponge beneath the pressure.
“I figure you grew up here. Surely you know who’s privy to town gossip and who isn’t.”
“Not really. But—” he shrugged “—maybe the cops do.”
That was possible. Maybe even likely. But Rachel preferred not to involve the local police, who’d be all too interested in finding out why she and Nate were searching for Martha. “Right. Thanks.”
She turned to see if Nate was ready to go and, suddenly, the obvious occurred to her. The clerk had mentioned a newspaper article, hadn’t he? If the police knew Martha’s whereabouts, it was possible the local press did, too. The press usually kept close tabs on such sensational cases. And that wouldn’t be too hard in a town this small.
“What about the local newspaper?” she asked.
“What about it?”
“Do they have offices here in town?”
“Yep.” He gestured to the west. “Just down the street.”
Nate, who’d been listening, came over with the coolant and the clerk rang it up.
Rachel eyed the bag as they walked out of the store. “You sure that’s all you need to fix the air-conditioning? What about tools?”
“I’ve got tools. You don’t own a badass truck like mine and not have tools.”
“The question is—do you know how to use them?”
He scowled and shook his head as if he was disappointed in her. “Babe…I can do anything, remember?”
She rolled her eyes. Anything but fall in love.
According to Jay Buckman, the editor they met at the newspaper office, a single woman in her early thirties named Laura Thompson had written the article on Martha Wilson. Although she occasionally submitted pieces to the paper, mainly to see her name in print, she worked at the drugstore across the street. Fortunately, they happened to catch her during her lunch break. They talked to her standing outside the store. She promptly gave them Martha Wilson’s address as soon as Nate mentioned his “sister’s” imaginary thesis.
The fact that Laura kept giggling and gazing up at Nate, eyes wide, told Rachel the woman’s willingness to accommodate them had a great deal to do with Nate’s appearance and charm. But Ethan was handsome, too. What would she do if the Holy One ever came to call? The Auto Zone clerk had said that someone was asking after Martha at the gas station a few days earlier. Rachel couldn’t imagine it’d be a good thing if the Covenanters had Martha’s address….
“Don’t tell anyone where you got the information,” the would-be journalist added as they left, but fear of exposing someone to danger was definitely a lesser concern than impressing Nate.
“So much for protecting a source,” Rachel said. She’d noticed her demotion from “wife” to “sister,” but after asking Nate to do this undercover assignment as brother and sister, she couldn’t complain, even if it did seem rather convenient in the face of Ms. Thompson’s adoration.
“Don’t be too hard on her,” he said. “This is a small town. The mentality is different. And it’s a weekly paper with a volunteer staff. She doesn’t know the meaning of privacy—or danger. What can you expect?”
“Is a little common sense too much to ask? I mean, you heard the clerk. We’re not the only ones looking for Martha. It wouldn’t be any fun for Laura to learn that Martha got hurt as a result of her loose lips.”
He twirled his keys around the ring. “You sure Laura Thompson’s loose lips is all that’s bugging you?”
Hearing the hint of suggestion in his voice, she stopped and narrowed her eyes. “What else could it be?”
“I don’t think one of us slept very well last night.”
“I can’t imagine why.” She smiled sweetly. “It was so nice and cool in that tin can you call a trailer.”
“You could’ve left your bedroom door open.”
“That wouldn’t have helped.”
“It helped me.”
She had no response to that. Shooting him her best glare, she donned her sunglasses. As long as they were together, it was going to be too hot no matter where they were.
9
They found Martha Wilson’s address easily enough; she lived in an apartment at the edge of town. But Martha didn’t come to the door when they knocked. Nate was about to break in when Rachel caught the back of his shirt and called out, “Martha? My name’s Rachel Jessop. I’m an ex-cop who works for a private security company, and I’d like to see what I can do to help you get your son back. Will you please let me in so we can talk?”
“Why don’t you just tell her who we really are?” Nate whispered sarcastically, but Rachel didn’t have time to reply. The door opened the width of the safety chain, which was still in place, and the dove-gray eyes of a small woman stared out at her. Rachel knew she was looking at Martha because of the brand on her forehead.
“Who did you say you were?” she asked.
Rachel had had a feeling Martha was home, and she’d been right. “I’m Rachel Jessop,” she repeated. “I’ve been hired to find out what’s going on with the Covenanters, and I need to ask you some questions.”
The door closed and they heard a chain slide. Then Martha poked her head out and looked both ways. When she saw Nate, she started.
“It’s okay,” Rachel told her. “This is my colleague. He’s trying to help, too.”
“I’m sure they’re looking for me. I—I can’t take the chance that you’re lying.”
While Rachel was contemplating whether or not to tell her that there were indeed people in Willcox searching for her, Martha began to close the door. “They tried to kill me,” she murmured. “They want me dead.”
Nate blocked the door with his foot. “If we wanted you dead, you’d already be dead.”
Rachel sent him a dirty look and hurried to smooth over his rough edges. “We know Ethan’s background, Ms. Wilson. We have copies of letters he once wrote to Charles Manson. We’re aware that he’s been…violent. We agree with you that he’s dangerous, that he has to be stopped.”
