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Agent Gates eased back a little to look up at Tom. “You planning to help her run again?”
“Jesus Christ,” Tom barked. “I’m a fucking marshal. You think I’m gonna throw away a twenty-year career for a woman I met a week ago?”
“You’re here, aren’t you? Just doing reconnaissance?”
Tom’s hand squeezed into a fist. He ignored it and kept his voice calm. “Give me a few hours. That’s all I’m asking.”
“She’ll run.”
“Where’s she going to go? This is her place, her land, her life. Christ, let me help you find the guy you really want. You won’t even be able to hold her for more than twenty-four hours.”
“Oh, I’d bet she’s got a few felonies piled up by now.”
Shit. Gates was probably right. She was living under an assumed name. There was no way that had been accomplished legally.
But Gates seemed to have thought it over. “An hour,” he said. “I’ll be at the bottom of the hill.”
He backed down the driveway while Tom’s mind spun. Relief tangled up with anxiety until he thought his head would explode. He had to tell her. Now.
Tom moved numbly up her driveway. He couldn’t feel his feet as he walked to her porch and stepped up, but he knew he was moving. Her door opened before he could reach it. He looked at her pale face and wished this wasn’t happening.
“Why was he here?” she asked.
He stopped at the threshold.
“He’s FBI,” she said, surprising Tom.
“Yes.”
“He’s not part of your team. What was he doing here?”
He couldn’t answer. He couldn’t tell her. But her face crumpled as he stared at her.
“Tom.” Her voice cracked. “Why was he here?”
He took a deep breath and tried to pretend this was any other case. “He’s here about your father,” he said.
Isabelle slammed the door in his face.
* * *
SHE BACKED UP until she felt the wall behind her. The doorknob jiggled.
“Isabelle,” he said through the wood. “Please open the door.”
She pressed both hands to her mouth and flattened herself against the wall. This couldn’t be happening. He knew.
How long had he known?
“Isabelle, let me help you. Please.” His hand slapped the wood. “Beth.”
“Don’t call me that,” she whispered as fear swept through her body. When it hit her heart, it turned to rage. “Don’t call me that!” She leaped for the door and wrenched it open. “How long have you known?”
Instead of answering her, he pushed past her. It didn’t matter that she tried to hold him back; he just walked in as if she weren’t even there.
“Get out of my house!” she yelled.
“I’m trying to help you.”
