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Jason’s hometown was barely big enough to merit a pinpoint on a map. There wouldn’t be any supplies there. Not the sophisticated electronic kind Tai might need for surveillance.
The guy grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. “Roger that.” He rose. “Jason’s still based back in that dust spec of a hometown, I take it?”
Bridger nodded. “Redemption Creek.”
Tai grimaced. “No sushi then, is what you’re saying.”
“We’ll be roughing it.”
“Good.” Tai grinned. “Just like the old days.”
2
“Arethese tea towels still on sale, dear?”
Jane Reilly took the package of flowered towels from the gray-haired woman at the counter. Mrs. Lattimer’s faded blue eyes were clear today, at least.
She smiled at the sweet older woman. “It’s your lucky day. You just caught the tail end.”
The towels hadn’t been reduced for months, but Mrs. L lived off her husband’s railroad pension. That didn’t stretch nearly as far as it had when the man retired over twenty years ago.
The grin she got in return more than made up for the two-dollar loss she’d take on the transaction.
Lots of folks in Redemption Creek had fallen on hard times since the mine closed. That was the second wave of economic hardship. Ranching had fallen off decades earlier, after Los Angeles siphoned off the valley’s water, leaving the fertile soil dry and useless.
At least they had the mountains. The great Sierra Nevada jutted up thousands of feet from the valley floor, breath-taking spires of snow-tipped granite that brought all manner of tourists. Climbers, anglers, through-hikers and RVers filled the streets almost year round, buying equipment and souvenirs, and packing the local restaurants and motels.
Jane was happy to have them. Most months, she sold more fishing rods and camping gear than lumber and nails. Not that her heart was in either.
The store had never been her dream. It wasn’t that she didn’t enjoy the work, and certainly her loyal customers, but she wanted more. Things she’d never have. She quickly dismissed the stray yearnings.
When she handed over the bag, Mrs. L leaned close. “There’s a man in town, asking about Jason. Ben Whitehorse overheard him at the Gas and Grill, and Fallon, the afternoon checker at Martinelli’s grocery, told me he was in there, too. I hope everything’s all right.”
So did Jane. She was sick with worry over her brother. She hadn’t heard a thing for almost a week now. That wasn’t like him. No matter how far away his work took him, he took care to text every few days.
The sharp jangle of the bells on the door wrenched her attention back to the store. A tall figure was silhouetted against the glass. He pushed hard, finally unsticking the thing.
She sighed. Time to re-hang it. Again. The building was older than Mrs. Lattimer, and even saggier. An easy fix for an accomplished carpenter like her, if she ever found the time to get to it.
The woman eyed the newcomer, then jerked her head around. “I think that’s him,” she whispered. “The one who was asking about Jason.”
Jane patted the woman’s hand. “Nothing to worry about, Mrs. L.”
But there was.
She wasn’t a former soldier like her brother, but she had a sense for people. The man striding toward the counter looked hard. Scary, in that way Jason could be, when the ghosts were chasing him.
Like he’d seen awful things. Maybe done them, too.
Movement in the back by the gardening equipment caught her eye. Paulo was straightening rakes. She waved her young helper over. “Can you see Mrs. L to her car?”
The high schooler took the grandmother by the arm. “Sure thing.” He escorted the woman past the newcomer and out the door.
Never taking her eyes off the stranger, Jane reached under the counter and brushed her fingers over the claw hammer resting there.
He stopped a few feet away. Just out of range. He didn’t look straight at her, but she could tell he was studying her.
Tall and lean, like her brother, he moved with the same confident grace.
