Now that Foxworth had clearly taken over…whatever this was, Adam was pondering what to do. He should have been well on his way home by now, probably through the pass and halfway there. He opened the weather app on his phone, since they somehow had a strong signal even out here. Better than at home anyway. Which was just as well, kept him from buying fancy, expensive phones. They had decent internet at the house and barn, but out on the Palouse, good luck with any kind of connection.
The storm that was still pouring rain on them here was already dumping snow in the mountains. The camera at Snoqualmie showed a near whiteout. Right now they were letting people through with snow tires, but from the look of it they’d be requiring chains soon. And the thought of wrestling chains onto his truck mostly one-handed was enough to make him groan inwardly.
Stop the pity party, Kirk.
“Thinking about tackling that?”
Hayley’s voice from behind him snapped him out of his thoughts.
“More thinking about not tackling it,” he admitted.
“Wise decision, I think.”
Hayley came around the chair, sat in the one next to it and handed him a cup of coffee. Adam took it gratefully. They’d moved back downstairs when they’d reached the point of rehashing the same ground again and again and accomplishing nothing. Until they knew who or what Pix referred to, they were at a loss.
“You’re going to keep digging into this?” he asked.
Hayley nodded. “If only for Amanda’s sake. Because he was obviously working on it when he was killed, it’s important to her.”
Adam glanced toward the small kitchen, where Amanda was with Quinn, apparently putting together some kind of lunch.
“He’s been looking out for her ever since, hasn’t he?”
“Yes.” She smiled. “My husband is hardwired that way.”
“So it wasn’t just…what happened to his parents?”
“That only solidified it, I think. Gave him direction, and determination.”
“He told me he wanted an organization that wasn’t hamstrung by regulations or politics, like cops are.”
Hayley nodded. “He wanted to be able to focus on helping, whatever it took.”
“Admirable,” Adam said. “I wish I could help more.”
Hayley gave him a quizzical look. “We still wouldn’t have a clue if you hadn’t come to help.”
“Doesn’t seem like much.”
“You’re pretty hard on yourself,” Hayley said, leaning back in her chair and taking a sip from her own mug.
He didn’t think so, but it seemed rude to protest what was clearly meant as a kindly observation, so he only shrugged.
“I presume you meant to beat that today?” she asked, nodding toward the snowy image.
“Yeah.” He grimaced. “I’d better call home.”
“You need a place to stay tonight?”
“I can go back to the motel by U-Dub,” he said.
“That’s where you were last night?”
He nodded. “Doctor’s appointment this morning,” he said absently, focused on calling up his contact list; Nat would be outside, prepping in case this storm still had snow left when it got to them, so he’d try her cell first. She wouldn’t be happy, but neither was he, leaving her and their folks with all the work.
“Still, huh?”
It took him a moment to remember what he’d said, and when he did he wished he hadn’t. “Still trying to sell me on more surgery,” he said, hoping she’d let it go.
“Would it help?”
“They say yes.”
“You don’t believe them?”
He put down the phone; Quinn’s wife was nothing if not persistent. But she was so kind it was impossible to dodge without being bad-mannered about it. “It’s more that I’m really, really tired of them cutting on me.” Which was true, but also a dodge, because they’d also told him he would end up with more function and much less pain, and he wasn’t certain he deserved that.
“That,” Hayley said, “is totally understandable.” Then, unexpectedly she said, “Why don’t you stay here tonight?”
He blinked. “Here?”
She gestured toward the back of the room. “There’s a comfortable bedroom back there, and a bathroom with a shower. And there’s food in the kitchen—you can help yourself.”
It was too much, for how little he’d done. “I…thank you. That’s really nice of you, but I think I’ll head back over and be that much closer in the morning, or whenever this lets up and I can get through.”
“Your choice,” she said, “just know it’s an option.”
He nodded. “Thanks again.” He hesitated, then thought it would be easier to ask her than Quinn, and said, “Would you let me know? If you find out anything?”
“Of course,” she said easily.
When he got up to leave, Hayley gave him a hug, Quinn shook his hand and Amanda, rather stiffly, said simply, “Goodbye.”
She had her purse over her shoulder and her keys in her hand, so he gathered she was leaving, too. But she was hesitating, so he guessed she wanted to say something to the Foxworths without him hanging around. Oddly, it was Cutter who protested his departure the most energetically, almost blocking the door and looking from him to Amanda and back, his gaze intense, as if he were trying to communicate something. He whined slightly, and it had such a worried sound Adam almost laughed at the dog. But something about this animal made laughing at him seem…inappropriate, if not foolish.
It was Hayley who called him back to her, also oddly by saying to the dog, “Not yet.”
When he was back in the truck, he remembered he was going to need gas. Might as well do it now in the hopes of an early start home in the morning. Or maybe he should just start home now, and hope they had the pass plowed by the time he got there. Not that it would do much good if it was still coming down that fast and thick, but he’d feel better.
Until you got stuck up there and had to tough it out in freezing temps or ended up in a snowdrift with the truck wrecked.
His map program told him the nearest gas station was a couple of miles away, on the way to the ferry. He found it easily and pulled in. He rather grimly watched the numbers on the pump roll as he filled the truck’s large fuel tank. He’d just finished the hit to his debit card when it struck him that he and Amanda would likely be on the same ferry going back to the other side. And for a moment he seriously pondered either waiting for the next one, some forty-five minutes later, or driving a half hour to the nearest other ferry. But a glance at his watch told him that would dump him in downtown Seattle at a peak traffic hour, and even if he survived to get on the freeway he’d be going through peak traffic there, too. Even though it was less than half as far, it would likely take him four times as long. Not something he wanted to deal with.
At least the blue classic car would be easy to spot. He would just stay several vehicles behind her, and once on board he would stay in the truck, he thought. Then he would never encounter her, because she certainly wouldn’t approach him.
He pulled out of the station onto the road and headed for the boat. It was the in-between time on this side, it seemed, too early for the rush of commuters coming back, and too early for those heading over to the city for the evening. And so he had the road pretty much to himself at the moment, only a few cars in sight ahead. His regular glance in the rearview mirror told him it was even sparser behind him, without a vehicle in sight.
Just as he looked back forward, something registered, like a freeze-frame of an image. His gaze shot back to the mirror. He’d been right. It had been a flash of bright blue that had caught his eye. He waited, realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to suck in some air. The blue got closer, close enough that he knew. Definitely Greg’s car; the likelihood of there being two of those classics here, on this road at this moment, was so slim as to be nonexistent. It was still raining fairly hard, so he couldn’t see into the vehicle. Not that he needed to, he could imagine Amanda at the wheel easily enough.
He made himself look forward again. Saw that he’d slowed to a creep, only then aware he’d taken his foot off the accelerator.
Good thing there’s not much traffic, Kirk. You’re driving like an idiot.
He resisted the urge to cut onto a side street and let her go past him, even though it would be easier to stay clear of her if she was ahead of him. But she was close enough to see him now, and if she recognized his truck, which she probably would, she’d know he was dodging. Why that mattered, with everything else she thought of him, he wasn’t sure. But it did.
They could still ignore each other, he told himself. Even if she was still right behind him when they boarded. Maybe he’d get lucky and they’d end up getting on at the point where the crew divided the oncoming vehicles, sending them to opposite sides of the vessel. Maybe—
A resounding crash cut off his thoughts. No screech of tires, but the road was probably too wet for that. Nothing in front of him… His heart jammed up in his throat. And even before he looked in the rearview mirror, he somehow knew.
The blue car was not in sight. Another vehicle was making a wild U-turn, and it sped off in the opposite direction.
He made the same maneuver and sped back the way he’d come. Not after the fleeing vehicle, but with his eyes scanning, searching…
There. A glimpse of blue. The side of a car at an unnatural angle. Greg Bonner’s pride and joy, sideways in the roadside drainage ditch. Smoke rising from the engine compartment.
And Amanda, pinned inside.