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“Don’t even say that.” The sheriff glared at her. “Focus, woman. I need you back.”
She shrugged. “I offered.”
“Get out of here.” His gaze met Griff’s. “Take care of her.”
Griff nodded. “I will.”
When they left the sheriff’s office, Rachel turned to Griff. “I promised to take you to the coffee shop where my sister worked. It closes in a few minutes, but I could use a cup of coffee to see me through a long evening. We can get it to go.”
“Lead the way,” he said. “I could use some caffeine.”
They walked a block and a half down Main Street with traffic steady and busy with tourists streaming in for the Founders Day events. The package delivery van took up several parking spaces in front of the coffee shop. Alan Smith tossed boxes onto a dolly. He glanced up as Rachel and Griff approached. “Good afternoon,” he said.
“Hello, Al. How’s your day going?” Rachel asked.
“Couldn’t be better.” He tossed another box onto the stack. “Attending any of the Founders Day festivities?” he asked.
She shook her head. “Not this year. Got too much going on,” she said and stepped into the shop where Lindsay had worked the early morning shift.
“Every time I come in here, I swear I feel her presence,” Rachel whispered.
“I wish I had known her,” Griff said. “She must have been a very special person.”
“She was a free spirit, fiercely independent and loyal.” Rachel swallowed hard to dislodge the sudden lump in her throat. “I keep thinking the grief will get easier. So far, it hasn’t.”
Griff pulled her into his arms, pressed a brief kiss against her lips, and then set her away at arm’s length. “You promised me coffee.”
She laughed. “I did, didn’t I?” They stepped up to the counter and ordered two plain coffees, no sugar or cream.
Al rolled the hand truck into the coffee shop and waited for the manager to sign off on the delivery.
As they waited for their coffee, the shop door opened, and Trent Morris entered, his jeans dusty, his shirt stained with sweat. He took off his ballcap, ran his hand through his hair and slid the cap back over his head. He nodded toward Rachel. “Are you in line?”
Rachel shook her head. “We’ve ordered.”
Griff moved closer, placing his body between Rachel and Trent.
Their names were called out. Griff and Rachel hurried forward to collect their cups and get the hell out of there, passing Trent on their way out.
Once outside, Rachel didn’t slow until they reached Griff’s truck. She climbed into the passenger seat and finally leaned back.
“I thought you said Trent wasn’t the killer?”
She shook her head. “I thought he wasn’t. But standing in the coffee shop, I got a weird vibe. Like the killer was there.”
CHAPTER12
The further theywent into the day, the tighter Griff’s nerves grew.
The killer had to be planning his move. Griff’s gut had never been wrong in the past. Absent? Sometimes, but wrong? No.
Griff and Rachel arrived at the ranch to find more vehicles and people than when they’d left.
More of the Brotherhood Protectors had arrived to help get the lodge and bar decorated, beer iced and food started cooking in the smoker.
As he worked to move tables onto the lawn, Griff introduced himself to several of the former Army Special Operations soldiers who’d helped make Hank Patterson’s brainchild come to life in Colorado.
They joked and shared deployment stories. All the while, Griff kept a close eye on Rachel. They ate sandwiches for lunch and shared a big pot of spaghetti for dinner. They did lunch and dinner in shifts to keep a steady number of helpers rotating through the Watering Hole. Already, customers filled the tables and asked for food and drinks.
