Present day—somewhere in central Colorado
The inside of the diner smelled like bacon and cinnamon rolls. Mint’s stomach rumbled, and a guy sitting in the first booth snorted as he walked by. Everyone else gave him some kind of reaction. They all saw him walk in. He sighed. Anonymity wasn’t something he could count on. He stuck out, even with the wool cap and glasses.
Mint was dressed like most of the guys in here—jeans and a plaid flannel shirt. Dirty work boots. He pushed his glasses up his nose and settled into an empty booth, far too used to drawing attention by his sheer size. It wasn’t like it bothered him. He needed the edge that made people give him a wide birth. They assumed he wasn’t smart, that he was a dumb jock—also necessary. He cultivated the image because it played in his favor so often.
Don’t come near. Don’t underestimate.
It didn’t take long for her to come over. Lime green waitress uniform, strawberry blond hair pulled back in a ponytail that made her look a few years younger than she actually was. The kind of subterfuge he used every day. A shift in appearance that played in her favor. She was a girl on the run trying to blend in and stay unnoticed.
Kind of like him.
She smiled, though her dark blue eyes remained guarded. “Coffee?” Her name tag read, “Ellie.” Close enough she wouldn’t trip over it too much, but nondescript enough she was able to hide here. But for how long? He’d found her. How long before the FBI did?
“Yeah.” His voice sounded like a rusty door. He cleared his throat while she poured. “Thanks.”
“Something to eat?”
He nodded. “I’ll take the Lumberjack Breakfast.”
She softened a fraction. “Good choice. I’ll get that right out.” She took his menu.
Mint watched Emma Burroughs, former senator’s chief financial officer—now murder suspect on the run—walk away. Spine straight. Shoulders square. Chin up. Determined not to break.
Mint pulled out his phone and sent a text.
It’s her.
Okay, so he’d been sent here to find out what she knew and to make sure she was protected—in the interest of the team’s goals. Double Down wanted this blackmailer taken down. But he hadn’t thought to find this affinity with her. A kindred spirit.
They were nothing alike.
And yet…
No, that wasn’t why he was here.
Mint caught the gaze of the older man behind the counter. He might be wiping the surface, but all his attention was on Mint. Watching Mint watch Emma. Mint glanced at the salt shaker, and the plastic dessert menu perched between the ketchup and the hot sauce.
The man’s handlebar mustache was mostly gray. His forearms corded. Hair was cut close to his scalp. Not a man unaccustomed to hard work. And it seemed Emma’s newest boss cared enough about her to keep an eye on who in the diner took notice of her.
Good.
Mint scratched at the edge of his knit cap, wishing he could pull the thing off. If he did, the scar behind his ear would be in plain view when Emma came back over with his plate. He should’ve sat facing the other direction if he wanted that.
She carried the dish with her right arm. Intel said her left had taken the bullet. The sleeve went almost to her elbow, loose enough to cover what scar remained. Did it still hurt?
“It’s hot,” she said. “So be careful.”
He glanced up at her and smiled. “Thanks again.”
She blinked. Emma Burroughs, Ivy League degree and a high paying job. Impressive pedigree. Poise. Style. Her eyes lost some of that guardedness he’d seen before, and she smiled back. “Well, you’re welcome. Again.”
He held her gaze for as long as she let him and then reached for the salt. He paused right before he shook, then replaced the salt back on the table. He didn’t need vices. Even if using the salt shaker wasn’t exactly an addictive habit, he couldn’t risk any of that. Strength had no foundation if the tiniest thing caused it to waver.
He rolled his shoulders, holding back the wince. His own recent injury had been more of an annoyance than anything else. Alexis had been saved, and even though she’d driven him crazy—causing him to jump on this assignment—he was glad they’d found her. All was well in the world of Bradley and Alexis. Mint was happy for them and had toasted their new life together along with everyone else.
And now he was here. A nice break, an engaging hunt for a missing woman who just might be able to tell them who the blackmailer was. The team at Double Down had their eyes on Senator Francis Sadler, until he’d been killed. Maybe Emma knew the real name of the person who had terrorized several people in various levels of government and private companies. Blackmail was a low game.
Mint was all in on the hunt for who was behind this.
Especially if it meant getting Emma Burroughs out from under FBI suspicion. She hadn’t killed Senator Sadler. Though he figured it was likely he’d been killed because of his involvement with the blackmailer—there was no way his death was coincidental. From the look in her eyes he’d figure the FBI was right that she’d been there. She’d been hurt. She’d seen something she’d never in her life be able to unsee.
Mint had met murderers. He knew what evil looked like. He knew deception. Emma might be scared, but there was no way she was a killer.
He would bet both their lives on it.
Mint downed four cups of coffee and polished off the plate, but not the toast that came with it. He’d eaten so much toast when he was a kid, the only thing his perpetually drunk father had actually stocked the cupboard with. If he didn’t see another slice of bread in his life it was too soon.
A sheriff’s car pulled up outside, three spaces down from the truck he’d bought in Nebraska. Mint left cash on the table and hit the bathroom before he used the back hall to head out the side exit. He didn’t need the sheriff noticing him as well, pegging him as exactly what he was—though he might not know why Mint was there—and asking way too many questions.
Ten minutes later, he pulled into the motel parking lot and headed to his room. Two doors down from Emma’s.
The pool was dated, but clean. The owners were an older couple. Efficient and friendly, the kind of motel owners you’d find in a small town, fly-over state. Mint watched the parking lot through the blinds. The front desk didn’t have an angle on these doors. The cameras weren’t worth his worry. Only the one on the main entrance was even plugged in. The rest were just for show. He clocked the progress of the housekeeper, and when the timing was right, moved down to Emma’s door.
He used his lock-pick kit and jimmied the door open in three seconds.
She was neat. Everything had been put away. Clothes folded. A small duffel lay at the bottom of the closet. He checked the safe, but found nothing. Whatever secrets Emma Burroughs held, she kept them well-hidden.
Between the mattress and box spring, he found two thousand dollars in twenties and her driver’s license, both beside a bloody envelope. Crumpled, still sealed. He didn’t have the tools on him to unseal it, and neither did he have the time.
Mint replaced her things, closed up the room, and headed back to his own. He stretched out on the bed with his clothes and boots still on and fell asleep in minutes.
Dark shapes twisted through his nightmares, images that rushed at him. His father’s booming voice. That huge, clammy fist slamming into his face. His ribs. The smell of alcohol on his father’s breath as he yelled about some infraction. Mint didn’t even care anymore. What was the point when everything and anything he did was wrong?
He awoke to the feel of hot blood running down the side of his neck. Tried to swipe it away, and realized it was nothing but a memory.
Mint touched the stubble where his hair had been and traced the line of the scar behind his ear.
The room had gone dark, only the yellow glow of the parking lot street lamps to remind him where he was.
He exhaled, trying to calm his heart rate, and sat up.
Outside, someone screamed.
Emma stared at the dark figure in her room for a second before whoever it was ran at her, shoving her back. The elbow to her ribs took the breath out of her. He shoved her sideways and against the wall, and her head collided with the siding. Black spots blinked across her vision, then the lights of the parking lot. Her legs gave out, and she slid down to the cold concrete ground.
She blinked and looked up. Standing a ways down from her room was a familiar face, just one she couldn’t place right now. He stared at her for second. Then he turned and ran.
Ran away.
Was he the man from her room, the one who’d just attacked her?
She sucked in a breath, and her head spun as she tried to figure out what was happening. Tried to breathe. Tried not to think about the senator, and the sound of a gun going off. Her arm still hurt from that night. She didn’t know if she would ever forget the pain of being shot and having to patch it up herself because she was too scared to go to a hospital.
If she’d gone in, she would have gotten arrested for the senator’s murder. A fact that had become even clearer in the days following. She’d been all over the local news coverage.
Had the blackmailer found her? Or Aaron Jones, the man who had killed the senator? This guy could be another associate of the blackmailer’s. Had he sent an entire army after her?
Cold moved through her and she shivered, still sitting there on the floor.
“My goodness.” The words were drawn out. A man’s voice. He crouched in front of her, and she settled on that craggy face. The owner.
“I’m okay, Bill.”
He frowned. Yeah, she didn’t believe her either. He said, “Mary already called an ambulance. Can you stand?” He wore striped pajamas and slippers, an open robe over the top like a coat.
Emma struggled to her feet and sucked in a breath. She placed a hand over her ribs and winced. “Ouch.”
Bill was frowning still.
Flashes of memory raced through her mind like a photo gallery. The senator’s face. The feel of the trigger under her finger, the squeeze. The pain. Seeing his face on the front of a newspaper. Dead.
Hearing her name on a news report.
Wanted for questioning.
The sheriff’s car pulled into the parking lot. Emma took half a step back.
Bill patted her shoulder. “The sheriff will take care of you. And I’ll take a look at your door, see if you need new locks. Or a deadbolt. Okay?”
She nodded, though she hardly comprehended what he’d said. She watched the sheriff walk over for a few seconds, then turned and stepped inside her room. Flipped the light on.
The bed was rumpled. Clothes had been pulled out of the dresser. The mattress was square with the box spring. It hadn’t been moved, which meant her savings—and her secrets—were safe. The person who’d come here wasn’t a cop. But what did he want? It felt like Aaron Jones was toying with her.
First, she’d felt like she was being followed, and now this? What did he want?
The sheriff of this county was a different story. She’d never met him. Had no idea what to expect.
Her mind flashed again, overlaying a picture of that man right before he’d run. The diner. That was where she’d met him. He had come in and ordered breakfast this morning. It was a shame he was one of Jones’s associates, because he’d had a nice smile. Obviously it was fake. Nothing but trying to feel her out, see what she knew.
Before they killed her.
Emma leaned against the open door and closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. Trying to figure out what on earth she was going to do next. This had all been about taking the power back. Confronting the senator over events long past. Finding strength to do the right thing, and finally having control over her own life.
“Ms. Stevens?”
It took her a moment to remember that was the name she’d given Bill and his wife, Mary, when she’d booked the room. Emma opened her eyes. “You can call me Ellie, Sheriff.” Like she was just another regular, everyday witness. A victim of a break-in.
“Would you like to sit?”
She nodded and made her way to the wood, upholstered chair. Kind of like a doctor’s waiting room seat. If the appointment had been in 1967. It squeaked when she settled onto it. She shot the sheriff a smile, and he asked her what had happened. She told him about the man in her room, unable to keep the shake from her voice. He didn’t need to know that it was about more than just tonight.
It was to her advantage that he hadn’t yet had the occasion to run her photo through any database. The news report of the senator’s death and her involvement hadn’t spread nationwide. Yet. Another story had broken days later, and hers had been buried. No doubt people were looking for her—good and bad people.
“Ellie?”
She blinked and looked up. “I’m sorry?”
His eyes softened. “You might want to think about talking with someone. It’s not a bad thing to seek out counsel, even if you don’t think you need help per se.” He gave her a soft smile and pulled out his wallet. “My wife is licensed.” He handed her a business card. “I know firsthand that talking things out can help.”
Emma’s eyes widened. It was a particular kind of man who could admit he’d needed help in life. She could admit, at least to herself, that counseling may be worthwhile. But did she have the time for it? Emma hardly knew what would happen day to day, as had been evidenced by tonight.
Did she want to talk to someone?
Her mind flashed again, an image of that man. Not because she wanted to talk to him—even with that nice smile of his. “I saw someone.”
The sheriff took half a step closer to her and nodded. He patted her shoulder. “I’m sure Bill and Mary can move you to another room if you’d like. Help you sleep better.”
“No.” She shook her head. “Outside. Right after he ran away. There was a man.” She waved toward the sidewalk in front of the room and tried to get her brain to cooperate. “He was in the diner this morning.”
“Was he the man inside your room?”
She didn’t know. Not for sure. “He ran away right after I saw him.”
“Any idea who he is?”
She shook her head. “He paid in cash, and he never told me his name. But he’s new in town.” Newer than her, at least.
“I’ll talk to Patch. See if he can help me out.”
Emma nodded. “Please.” Her boss at the diner was a former biker—though, he’d never say “former” so she figured it was like being in the Marines that way—and he knew everything that happened in the diner. He’d even commented on the man who’d come in. The one she had seen tonight, outside her room.
Was he really an associate of Aaron’s? Emma shivered. Either way didn’t matter. They had found her. Which meant she had to move on, get out of town, keep running. Before they decided she wasn’t needed anymore.
And they killed her.