Dakota Marshal. Jenna Ryan

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      “That’s the direction Rory’s taking, huh?”

      Fat drops of rain began to fall from the bruised clouds above. “Rory’s heading for a border.” Although climbing into his truck was roughly equivalent to scaling Mount Rushmore during an ice storm, McBride persevered. “He’s zigzagging, wants me to believe he’s going to Canada, but my money’s on Mexico.”

      She stopped pushing to peer around his arm. “Are you serious? You expect me to go to Mexico?”

      “Did I mention I was sorry?”

      “Did I mention I put some of Dr. Lang’s suppositories in that medi-pack?”

      He managed to chuckle rather than wince. “Give me a viable short-term destination, Alessandra.”

      She sent him a last biting stare, then swung on her heel to point. “Bodene’s about fifty miles southwest of here. Spruce Creek’s thirty, but in a slightly different direction. Joan’s rustic Dead Lake cabin’s our best bet. It’s a twisty twenty-mile drive from this old camp.”

      “Sounds good,” he said. “Secluded.” Ghoulish, too, but hopefully not portentous.

      Rain began to pelt the roof and windshield. In the driver’s seat, Alessandra tied back her hair in a long ponytail. Now how in hell could something so simple strike him as so damn sexy?

      Once again, she seemed to know what he was thinking. Her lips twitched when she shoved the truck in gear. “Eyes forward, McBride. We’re off to Dead Lake, and Eddie’s nowhere to be seen.”

      Which was, McBride reflected as he scanned the eerily silent clearing, the thing that concerned him most right now.

      JOAN’S CABIN HAD a bathroom, a galley kitchen, a huge stone fireplace and a pull-out sofa that faced the hearth.

      “Home sweet home.” Alessandra dropped her gear on a small window table. “It’s compact, but not all that different from my father’s house. There’s even a loft.” Humor invaded her tone. “No ladder.”

      Overhead lights flared at the touch of a switch, as did the propane water heater.

      “Quick trip into town for supplies, and I can have my long-awaited shower.”

      McBride, who’d recovered even more rapidly than she’d anticipated, made a more purposeful circle of the room.

      “There’s a lot of glass,” he noted. “And trees for cover.”

      “There’s also a good chance we left Eddie in one of those potholes we slammed through last night.” She halted him by setting her palm on his chest. “The rain’s stopped, there’s a general store just over a mile from here and, honestly, given a choice at this moment, I’d rather die from a bullet than from starvation. We’ve seen, you’ve scoped, let’s go.”

      “You’d make a lousy marshal, Alessandra.”

      “I’ll take that as a compliment.” But she waited while he checked out the porch and small yard before returning to his truck.

      “I’ll drive,” McBride told her. “Put on my leather jacket and hat, and try not to let anyone in town see your face. We go in and out, no hesitation. Basics only.”

      Alessandra tipped back the brim of the hat he’d dropped on her head and frowned. “Have you been spending time with my father?”

      “Better yours than mine. Which way?”

      She indicated a narrow mud and gravel road. At his raised brow, she smiled. “I came here with Joan in June.”

      “Did you go into the store?”

      “Several times. The owner can’t see anything clearly that’s more than a foot in front of him.” She gauged his mood, then went for it. “How’s your father doing these days?”

      He shrugged. “In jail, out of jail. Last I heard, he was being held in Panama. Something about flying an illegal substance across the border inside a shipment of Colombian coffee beans.”

      Alessandra thought back. McBride’s dad had brought his fourth wife to their wedding. After the ceremony, he’d made a pass at her Bahamian aunt. As with most things, it hadn’t worked out for him. Angelica had given him a resounding slap while wife number four poured a drink over his head. And all of that before the photographs had been taken.

      “Maybe time in a Panamanian jail will straighten him out,” she mused aloud.

      “If you think that, you’ve been living in the animal world too long.” McBride indicated a weather-worn structure. “Is that the store?”

      “That’s it. Dead Lake Feed, Seed and General Wares.”

      “There’s only one vehicle out front.”

      “The year-round population here is about fifteen. The in-out thing should be relatively simple.”

      There was no one behind the counter when the cowbell jangled to announce their entry. Flies buzzed against torn window screens, and the refrigeration units, relics from the 1960s, made a loud humming noise.

      Tugging McBride’s hat lower to cover her face, Alessandra picked up two large baskets and headed for the grocery section. She filled up, then picked out some personal stuff.

      Her arms were already straining when she turned a corner and spied the clothes and underwear. Although her choices were limited, pretty much everything she needed was available. Except that she had to climb up to the top shelf to dig out the right sizes. She even snagged a pair of suede hiking boots and a sleeping bag.

      On her way to the cash counter she found McBride with his hip perched on a dusty windowsill as he scanned the deserted road outside.

      He turned his head, saw the overflowing baskets and grinned. “That’s your idea of in and out?”

      “Why, yes, thank you, I’d love some help.” She handed him the heavier basket and shook her arm to get the circulation back. “Is there a cashier?”

      “Not that I’ve seen. I could have loaded a pickup with stolen merchandise by now.”

      “Mr. Singer?” She tapped the service bell. “You have customers.”

      When no one approached, Alessandra peered over the counter to her left. And spotted a pair of feet.

      “Damn. McBride!” Without waiting, she flipped up the pass-through.

      The elderly storeowner lay facedown on the floor. She was searching for a pulse when the stockroom door burst open.

      Alessandra glimpsed torn jeans and heard a snarling curse. Then her eyes snapped up, and she saw the gun.

      ACTUALLY, IT WAS a rifle, and the thief nearly dropped it in his rush to escape.

      Packs of cigarettes spilled from the inside of his zipped jacket. He hurdled Alessandra and the store owner, scrambled under the pass-through and took a swing СКАЧАТЬ