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At eleven-thirty, Harold whined again at the door and thumped his tail on the carpet.
“Okay, okay. You can do your business here one more time where it’s safe, and then we’re taking a little drive.”
After a few minutes in the yard, Sara whistled Harold into her SUV, where he took his favorite spot on the front seat beside her. She cruised slowly down Birch, past four blocks of neatly kept houses and several open lots at the bottom of the hill.
To the left, lit by a solitary street lamp, lay the small park. The weak illumination went no farther than the old picnic table at the base of the light. The splinter of moon overhead left the rest of the area in darkness.
She pulled to the curb, doused her headlights, and made sure her doors were locked, but left the engine running. “What do you think, buddy?” she asked, reaching over to scratch Harold’s ears.
The old dog whined and turned awkwardly around on the seat next to her, then stared out into the darkness.
“We aren’t going out there,” she murmured. “Let’s just see what happens, okay?”
Earl hadn’t indicated any particular area of the small park, but he would surely hear her SUV and approach it. With backup she might have been more aggressive about searching him out, but a special agent didn’t reach retirement age by being stupid. If the man wanted to talk to her, she was here.
Five minutes ticked past. Ten. At twenty minutes after midnight, she considered shifting into drive and heading home.
Headlights appeared over the hill behind her. A vehicle slowly approached and pulled up a car’s length away from her rear bumper. She stilled, her heart kicking into overdrive, as she quickly reviewed the situation.
This could be her break—
When orange grill lights started flashing on the car behind, she flinched.
If Earl had been anywhere nearby, he’d take off now for sure, and as the seconds ticked by she knew the deputy must be running her license plates on his MDC—mobile data computer.
Not that he’d find anything that might jeopardize her operation here in Ryansville.
The SUV was registered in her name and her driving record was clear. There weren’t any outstanding warrants on her, nor would he find any reference to her real job.
Harold whined and scrambled around on the seat, clearly excited by the flashing lights.
“Does this bring back old memories, buddy?” she murmured. She reached over and caught his collar to quiet him. “This won’t take long, and then we’ll be on our way.”
Previously Nathan had taken her “insomnia” at face value, but sooner or later he might start getting suspicious. From the look in his eye when he finally got out of his car and approached the driver’s side door of hers, that time had come.
He braced one arm on the roof of her SUV and waited for her to roll down her window. “A little late, isn’t it?”
“Sure is,” she retorted. “I took my mom out to dinner, but when I got home, Harold still really wanted his evening walk. It was so late that I felt better about just letting him run a few minutes in the park.”
Nathan raised a dark eyebrow. “Down here?”
“Things do look spookier in the dark,” she admitted. “I’ve only been down here during the day.”
He peered into her car. Harold, now sitting at full attention on the front seat, was still panting with excitement. “Would your dog defend you?”
If Nathan only knew. “I...think he would. Shepherds can be pretty protective.”
“Just don’t rely on it. This isn’t Mayberry, and one resident deputy can’t keep constant watch twenty-four hours a day.”
A feeling of warmth slid through her at the concern in his tone. He was just doing his job, but how often had anyone worried about her safety? Usually, it was the other way around. “I suppose I’d better head home.”
“I’ll follow you.”
“It’s just a few blocks,” she protested. “I’m in a locked vehicle, so I’ll be fine.” But he was already striding back to his cruiser, and she knew he would escort her home no matter what she said.
For sure, if Earl had seen the deputy pull up, talk to her, and then follow her home, he’d hesitate to come forward again.
His note said not to come back to his place, but tomorrow she’d try cruising past to see if he might be outside, because she’d already checked the phone book and found no listing for Stark’s Salvage. What sort of business operated these days without a phone?
