Fatal Secrets. Barbara Phinney

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      By now, they’d reached the truck stop, it being only a short drive down the highway. After parking, she turned to him. “Zane, I need to find my biological mother. I don’t know much about her, but I know she’s in danger.”

      Hmm. Was this her idea of trust? A few mysterious words? “In danger of what?”

      “Of being murdered.”

      The words hung between them in the car, as Zane watched Kristin’s eyes grow wide with some instant realization and she sucked in a sharp breath.

      “What’s wrong?” he asked. “Besides the obvious fact you think your biological mother is in danger.”

      Her expression turned hollow as she stared out the windshield. “They’re after me,” she whispered. “Jackson was right!” She bit her lip before adding, “I should never have gone to that guy’s trial! But that couldn’t have been how…”

      What on earth was she talking about? “Look at me, Kristin. What’s going on?”

      She turned toward him, her eyes like a Japanese cartoon. “I went to Vincent Martino’s trial,” she breathed out. “That must have been where they saw me, but he didn’t say it was.”

      He shook his head and frowned. “Whose trial?” He itched to reach for his notebook, but stopped himself, instead committing the name to memory. “Did you have to testify?”

      “No. It’s a long story.”

      “Where was it?”

      “Chicago.” She blinked. “While I was there, I met up with Jackson McGraw again. He’s an FBI agent there. I’d met him some months ago when I started the search for my mother. During a recess at the trial—”

      “Wait!” he interrupted. “Are you talking about the mobster Vincent Martino? Wasn’t he convicted, but escaped custody?” He stared intently at her. “What was so important about going to his trial? That courtroom was probably the most dangerous place to be in all of the country.”

      “It was also said to be the safest place in the country.”

      Zane sat back, trying to recall the details that had flooded the news last month. With the tightest security since the president was sworn in, the judge would only allow those closely associated with the trial to be in the courtroom. How did this woman get in?

      More to the point, why did she think Vincent Martino was now after her? What was going on?

      “Drive. Start the engine and drive,” he told her.

      “Where are we going?”

      “To the police station. You need to report what happened to you.”

      She opened her mouth to argue, but shut it again.

      “Is there a problem?” he asked.

      “I should make a phone call first. It won’t take long.” She twisted around for her purse.

      “And in the meantime your assailant’s trail goes cold. The police can help you, but you can’t be calling a girlfriend first.”

      Their gazes locked. He could easily see the irritated indecision in hers. “The police can only help you if you’re timely, Kristin.”

      “It wasn’t to call a girlfriend.” She looked exasperated. “It’s a long story.”

      He’d hurt her feelings, he noted. Still, she needed to see the police. “The police should know about it, Kristin.”

      Finally, she nodded. After starting the engine, she carefully eased from her parking spot and out onto the highway.

      He wanted to ask her a thousand questions, mostly sparked by his own curiosity, but common sense told him to report the incident in front of the café.

      And then walk away.

      Yes, Zane. Walk far away. You don’t need this hassle.

      And yet, he argued silently with himself, there was something earnest about her, a deep hurting quality that tugged at his protective instincts.

      The police station came into view, an ordinary brick-and-mortar building on the other side of the town. But after parking in the visitor spot, Kristin made no effort to climb out. Zane sat there patiently, staring out at the line of snow-topped mountains that trimmed the horizon behind the station. In front of them, the flag jerked about in the increasing wind.

      “You have to report what happened to you, Kristin.”

      “I don’t know. Jackson said—”

      This Jackson guy must have a title in the FBI, but he’d find that out later. “Never mind what he said. You think someone tried to kill you, so you need to talk to the police. If it has anything to do with the Martino family, you need to let them know even more.”

      She snapped her head over. “How do you know what I need? Or what I think, or anything?”

      “You have the face of an angel, Kristin. Every thought that runs through your head is displayed loud and clear to those who know how to read people. And I’ve made it my business to read people. You think what’s happened to you is related to the Martino family. And we both know you’re not telling me everything, but you will tell the police.”

      “Maybe.”

      “No maybes about it. You obviously don’t trust me, but surely, you’ll trust the local police force.”

      She sat ramrod still, not answering him for a few minutes. He had the time to wait her out, but when he looked up at her face, a tear rolled down her perfectly clear cheek. It dropped to her jeans.

      He groaned inwardly. “What’s wrong?”

      She hastily brushed the tear away. “The last time I was here was to pick up my adoptive parents’ things. The police had come to my door and taken me to the hospital.” She looked at him with hollow eyes. “Did you know that they have a morgue in the basement there? I had to identify my mother and father. They’d been in a car crash south of here. The police were actually willing to take me to where they died, but I… It was the worst thing to ever happen to me. I couldn’t do it.”

      She swallowed, obviously fighting back difficult emotions. “Then a policewoman took me home and spent the night with me, until one of the ladies from the church could come and stay. A couple of days later, I was asked to come here to collect my parents’ things. They handed me a box and two bags of stuff that was broken and splattered with—” She inhaled shakily. “Then the police were done with me. I haven’t been back since.”

      Zane slumped. He remembered a crash about five months ago. The roads were clear, but still the car had plunged over a short embankment into Lindbergh Lake. Both the husband and wife had died. The autopsies and even tearing apart the car couldn’t reveal any reason for the accident. The story fell off the radar shortly after their funeral.

      They were her parents?

      Abruptly, Kristin threw open the door and climbed out.

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