27

The state patrolman’s hand clenched her arm—hard. “Don’t move.”

“I won’t.”

Panic was never good—especially when the other person had a gun and she didn’t.

“Who is that? Your boyfriend?”

“I don’t know him.” But Jamie had a sick, sinking feeling even though she hadn’t seen his face yet. An angry-looking red snake curled up the back of his arm.

“Don’t lie to me.”

Had she ever been part of a homicide investigation before? “I’m not lying. He’s not my boyfriend.” Jamie’s own voice was calm. “Let’s stay calm. No reason to panic.”

Nails dug into Jamie’s arm. “I’m not panicking. And don’t tell me what to do.”

There were no toys in the corner and only a sheet on the bed. No quilt. This was not the cabin she’d been in with Ryan. How had he gotten here? And had she been here, as well? Oh, Ryan, why did you drug me? I could have helped you.

After a quick search of the cabin, the officer knelt down and checked for a pulse. “He’s dead.” She stood up and stared at Jamie. “Is this your boyfriend?”

“You’ve asked me that twice already. Both times, I told you no.” Her stomach twisted and her knees shook as she stared at Ryan. “He is not my boyfriend.”

But he had been her friend. The last thing she remembered was the knock on the door and Ryan pressing the ether-soaked rag against her nose and mouth. Who had been at the door? She’d assumed it was Michael Zinkleman and maybe Andrew, but why would he kill the man who’d flown here to help him stay hidden?

“Shouldn’t you look at him first before you answer my question?”

“I don’t need to—it’s not him. And I’ve never seen this place before.”

“So, you’re telling me you’ve never been here.”

“That’s right.”

“So, we aren’t going to find your fingerprints in here. Is that right?”

“That’s correct.”

“Fine. Back to the car.”