Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
H arbor
I debated driving the fifteen hours from Philadelphia to Wisconsin for approximately eight minutes before sucking it up and using old travel points I’d accumulated. I would collect once I returned Katrina Dobbs to the Milwaukee authorities and deposited the bounty into my starving bank account. John was right. It wasn’t a terrible idea to make a little cash on the side, and hunting down a gorgeous woman was far more appealing than busting up bar fights with frat boys.
To be clear, I was not doing it because she was gorgeous. Definitely not.
At the airport in Milwaukee, I rented a nondescript sedan, then reconsidered the moment I stepped outside and saw the mountains of snow piled all over the parking lot. One SUV upgrade later, and I was on my way to a little peninsula in the middle of Lake Michigan. St. Olaf, Wisconsin. One thousand year-round inhabitants with a big influx during the summer and fall tourist seasons, and the hometown of Katrina Valdez Dobbs.
It was a long shot, of course. There was a high likelihood she was smart enough not to return to her hometown after jumping bail, but it was a small town and everyone made mistakes. People were supposed to talk in small towns, weren’t they? Maybe someone had talked to her parents or her ex-husband, and they might have a clue where she was.
She hadn’t used any of her credit cards, and the ones she’d shared with her ex had all been canceled once he tanked their joint credit score and cheated on her.
Not to play devil’s advocate, but I could see why she wanted to run him over with her car. I had a similar urge after looking into Pete Dobbs.
The closer I drove toward St. Olaf, the more the picture of Katrina solidified in my head. She was an artist, according to her social media accounts. She’d posted entire galleries of sculptures she had crafted out of found materials: wood, leaves, stones. No big name shows—not that I would know one if it slapped me upside the head—but even I saw she had talent.
Out here, in the country? This must have been an inspiration for her.
Following the signs, I pulled off the road and into the town of St. Olaf.
Talk about a blast from the past.
Main Street was two neat rows of brick buildings with big, glass storefronts and parking spots outside. Fairy lights clung to the bare trees lining the street. The people walking around wore bulky winter parkas and hats, and almost everyone had a to-go coffee cup in their hands.
Coffee. My weakness. My mouth watered, and without fully realizing what I was doing, I parked in one of the angled spots and got out.
The whole town smelled heavenly, like sugar and crackling fire and warm cinnamon tea. No, that was the bakery I stood in front of. Sweet and Salty. The window display was framed with gingham curtains, and the inside bustled.
As I pushed open the door, a tiny bell dinged, announcing my arrival.
A blond non-binary person stood behind the counter, their cheeks pink from the heat inside the bakery. “Welcome. What can we get for you, stranger? We don’t see many tourists this time of year.”
“Hello, Sasha,” I said, reading their name tag. “Your coffee smells great. What kind do you have?”
Sasha laughed, their voice clear and bright. It warmed me in an odd way, since I hadn’t realized I was even cold. “We have everything. Are you a connoisseur?”
“No. I just like it.” I stuck my hands in my pockets. I was meant to be finding out information on my bounty, and instead I was chatting coffee with a local. Maybe this was why I hadn’t heard from the Marshal Service.
MIore likely it was because they had looked at my Army service record. Even if some of the missions were clandestine, anyone could have read between the lines. I had an honorable discharge, but that didn’t mean I’d done things I was proud of.
My fists clenched but they loosened as the scent of freshly-made snickerdoodle wafted toward me from the kitchen.
Sasha winked and made it look completely natural, for which I admired them. Every time I winked, I looked like I was about to spit nails. “Give me two minutes. I know just the thing.”
They disappeared into the back room. I presumed the kitchen was there, as typical kitchen sounds like clanking bowls and whirring mixers could be heard. A second later, a very pretty, full-figured brunette with her hair up in a rainbow bandana walked out, holding a plate of cookies. My mouth watered. I could almost see the cinnamon-scented steam rising from them.
“Hi,” the woman said. She plucked one cookie from the tray and placed it on a small, flamingo-shaped plate. Who knew they made plates like that? “I’m Laura Marshall. I own Sweet and Salty. You look like you could use a snickerdoodle.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“Ugh.” Laura rolled her eyes. “Don’t ma’am me, please. I’m not that old. Am I that old, Sasha?” she called into the back.
“Not until you’re dead!” Sasha yelled back.
Laura pushed the plate toward me. “Here. On the house since it’s your first visit. What are you doing in town?”
It took every ounce of willpower not to devour the cookie right there in front of her. “My name’s Harbor Stryke. I’m looking for someone who used to live here. Maybe you know her. Katrina Dobbs?”
A tiny furrow creased her brow. “She went to high school with my sister. I haven’t seen her in a while, but thank God she divorced that dickhead Pete. Sorry. Shouldn’t swear.”
“Not a problem, Ms. Marshall.” From what I’d gleaned of Pete Dobbs in my cursory investigation, it was an accurate description. “Do you know where her parents might be? Anyone who might have seen her?”
Sasha came out of the back room holding a to-go cup of coffee. “Her parents work up at Serenity Bay, on the lake. It’s about thirty minutes northwest of here. You could ask there.” They set the coffee cup in front of me.
“I’ll do that.” I removed my wallet from my pocket but Laura Marshall tsked.
“Already told you, Mr. Stryke. First one’s on the house.” She swept the cookie from the flamingo plate into a small paper bag and handed it to me. “Don’t be a stranger.”
I almost went off the road twice on the drive to Serenity Bay. Once, when I swooned because the coffee was the single best cup of coffee I’d ever had, including the Sumatran blend my Army buddies and I had smuggled into camp one night. Then again when I tasted the cookie, which melted onto my tongue in such a divine combination of butter and spice, it was almost like seeing heaven.
Fortunately, I kept the SUV in its lane, though both of my treats were gone far too early.
I pulled into the luxury lakeside resort. There was a long, tree-lined drive leading up to the log cabin-style manor house, with parking lots scattered around and a circular conference center toward the back. Wondering if I’d have time to stop at the bakery again before I found a place to sleep for the night, I followed the signs for the self parking lot.
As I headed for one of the back corners, the better to avoid a massive pile of snow falling from a tree onto my rental, a woman in a puffer coat, with a long black ponytail streaming from underneath her thick woolen cap, ran out in front of me.
I slammed the brakes, and the SUV shuddered to a stop.
What were the odds?
Katrina Dobbs pounded on the passenger side window. Dumbfounded, I unlocked the doors. She slid in and turned to me, her expression wild. “Help. Please. I’m being followed.”
This was where training and adrenaline were helpful in one’s life. Without fully considering how my bounty practically landed in my lap—or the fact that she smelled better than a Sweet and Salty snickerdoodle—I swerved the car into reverse and fishtailed it onto the main road.
“Thanks,” she said, sniffling. She pulled her cap off her head, releasing a puff of her perfume that almost made me swoon for the third time that day. “I’m so sorry to stop you like that. I had to get out of there.”
I gripped the steering wheel. “Sure. Where are you headed?” I turned away from town, not even knowing where this little jut of land ended. It didn’t matter. My heart pounded in my chest like a thunderstorm. She was here, with very little effort on my part. I should have turned south, toward Milwaukee. That had been the plan, after all.
But Katrina Dobbs in person? She defied all a man’s best laid plans.
“I don’t even know.” She sniffed again, then, completely without warning, put her hands over her face and started to sob.