Chapter 14
14
V ince convinced the detective not to bring Lina in, and instead, they met at a nearby coffee shop. The interview went smoother than she expected. He understood her decision to follow her father’s directive and run, although he’d been less sympathetic about her choice not to call the police. It took convincing, but eventually, she persuaded him that because she hadn’t known who to trust, silence seemed the safest option. Strategically, she left out telling him anything about the map and money…no need to muddy the waters.
Ninety minutes after sitting down with one of Seattle’s finest, she and Jackson said their goodbyes, promised to stay in touch, and walked outside to their SUV. Vince and the detective held a brief conversation before the FBI agent ambled over and joined them.
“What are your plans now?” he asked.
“Did you tell him you let us into the house?” Jackson asked, nodding to the detective, who was ducking into his government-issued vehicle.
“He suspects but didn’t ask,” Vince answered. “If I knew anything about Dr. Kato’s death, he knows I’d tell him. Since I didn’t offer anything up…” He shrugged.
Vince had seen her take the book, but she didn’t ask if he’d mentioned it. She didn’t want to call any attention to her action.
“We’ll head out and find a place to stay for the night,” Jackson said, answering Vince’s original question.
He eyed them. “My family has a ranch east of here. There are bunkhouses on it if you need.”
Jackson looked to her to decide. She trusted Roxanne because Jackson trusted her, but she didn’t know Vince. She shook her head. “My apartment isn’t far from here.”
Vince studied her before giving a tiny nod. “Give me a ring if you need anything. My skills are underutilized in the FBI. This is the most intrigue I’ve seen in my four years with the agency.”
Lina couldn’t help but laugh. “Former intelligence?”
Vince waggled an eyebrow. “Just a military grunt.”
“How to say you were military intelligence without saying you were military intelligence,” Jackson mumbled. Vince shrugged again, then with a friendly wave, walked toward his SUV.
“We’re not going to your place, are we?” Jackson asked.
“No. And I’m sure Vince is trustworthy, but…” she replied as they climbed into their car.
“He can find us anytime using the car’s built-in GPS. All he’d have to do is ask Roxanne,” he pointed out as he started the engine and backed out of their spot.
She inclined her head. “Yeah, but the question is, will he?”
They remained silent as Jackson pulled onto the road. They both waved as they passed Vince. He lifted a hand in response, his other holding a phone to his ear.
“So where to?” he asked.
“I have a friend with a lake house east of Woodinville. Let’s head in that direction, and I’ll text her to see if we can use it.”
They called Roxanne on the way to ask about using the car for longer. She agreed on the condition that she be given first right of refusal on the movie rights of their adventure. Lina was 95 percent sure the actress was joking. The other 5 percent wasn’t so sure.
That time of night, it didn’t take them long, and soon Jackson was backing into the small garage attached to the lakeside cottage her friend had given them the use of. Putting off opening the book she’d taken earlier, she dumped her bag in one of the rooms, grabbed a pair of flannel pajamas from her friend’s drawer, and stripped out of her clothes. Her go bag had the necessities, only not very many of them, and she needed to do laundry again.
“You have anything that needs washing?” she asked, walking out of the room to find Jackson staring out the French doors toward the small lake. He glanced back, his eyes trailing over her, then without a word, he nodded and disappeared into the second bedroom. As he rustled around, she pictured him moving through the space, gathering his clothes, stripping down. She wondered what he’d leave on. Unlike for her, the drawers wouldn’t hold anything for him to change into.
She nearly swallowed her tongue when he walked out clad in nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. The sleek lines of his body accentuated his confident strides as he moved toward her, carrying a small bundle of clothes. She’d seen him in a similar state before, but somehow, this felt…different. Something had changed, something subtle. Or maybe it was simply the way he held out his arms, silently offering to take her load rather than give her his.
Too off-kilter to speak, she added her small bundle to his, her eyes lingering on his backside as he walked to the laundry room they’d passed on the way in. A minute later, the washer started.
“Do you want a…sweatshirt or something?” she asked when he strode back into the room. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to find one, but it would give her something to do other than stare at him.
“Nah, I’m good,” he said. She narrowed her eyes at him as he crossed the room to stand at the French doors again. Her gaze traced the breadth of his shoulders and the way his waist tapered. A man’s character always drew her more than his body, but damn if Jackson didn’t have both in spades.
“You going to look at the book now?” he asked without turning around.
With a quiet sigh, she reined her thoughts in and refocused. A little distraction could be a good thing, but they had a puzzle to solve.
She retrieved the paperback from her bag, then returning to the central room. To her relief—and chagrin—Jackson now sprawled on the upholstered chair, a throw blanket haphazardly draped across his abs and thighs.
“We can get delivery out here. I hope you don’t mind, but I ordered ramen for dinner,” he said, setting his phone on the side table.
She nodded as she took a seat on the couch and opened the book. She wasn’t all that hungry, but they needed to eat.
Thumbing through it, she looked for anything her dad might have stowed between the pages. When nothing came out, she flipped through it page by page, looking for a message from him. When she reached the end, she went through it again backward.
Nothing.
Disappointment swirled through her, tightening her chest. She gripped the book to keep from throwing it across the room as frustration coursed beneath her skin.
“Nothing?” Jackson asked, his voice quiet in the dim room.
Her gaze landed on a photo above the mantel. She grounded herself in the muted shadows of the abstract sunrise. As a field agent for the CIA, she’d undertaken—and successfully completed—missions with much less intel than she had now. Why did this one have her stomach churning and her heart thudding? Why did this one trigger her so quickly? Where was the cool confidence the agency had come to rely on her for?
Her mind snagged on that last thought. She needed to find that woman again. She needed to take a step back and look at everything with the eyes of an agent. Maybe it wouldn’t help her magically figure out the next step, but it would give her some distance, maybe calm the turmoil churning inside her.
She inhaled and, on the exhale, shook her head. “Nothing.”
Jackson cocked his head but didn’t ask for clarifications or if she was sure. “Why don’t you get the tin out again, and we can have another look.”
The daughter in her wanted to protest, wanted to point out that they’d already turned everything over several times. But the agent in her took over, reminding her that the box held a message. They’d deduced the wrong one the first go-around. Reexamining everything was the next logical step.
Silently, she rose and retrieved it, setting it on the coffee table when she returned. Perching on the couch, she leaned over and removed the lid. Without a word, she took all the items out and set them on the table. Bringing the blanket with him, Jackson crossed the room and sat at her side.
“You said you’ve visited Orcas Island and Murphys, right?” he asked, pointing to the two postcards.
Her mother had loved to travel—everything from weekend getaways to a full summer itinerary. Their trips had taken them all over the United States—to all seven continents—at one point or another. She’d been to both locations depicted by the postcards but wasn’t certain when. Not after high school, she knew that much, but how much earlier?
She racked her brain, mentally culling through memories. “We went to Orcas when I was a kid. Maybe six or seven.” The memories came back as she spoke, but only in snippets—wading in tidal pools, riding horses every day through the woods and along the beach, the ferry ride over. “I spent a lot of time riding and exploring the beaches. I don’t remember much more than that, but we had fun. Although most trips with my mom were fun, so that’s not unique.”
“Did your dad go with you?”
She shook her head. “He almost never traveled with us. Didn’t like being away from home.”
“What about Murphys?”
She bobbed her head. “We drove through it on the way back from Yosemite when I was maybe ten. We stopped for lunch. I drove through again after leaving Mystery Lake, but I haven’t spent any significant time there. Cute town, though.”
“It is, but that’s not going to help,” he said, setting the postcards to the side. “The keys are generic, no markings. They could be anything from house keys to safe deposit box keys. Did your dad have any interactions with a bank?”
She shook her head. “I managed all his finances. He was a brilliant scientist but couldn’t manage day-to-day things well.”
He pushed the keys to the side, leaving the toy car, the spool of thread, the green plastic army man, and the magnifying glass. “Then I think we need to focus on these.”
“This might have something to do with my former profession,” she said, sliding the magnifying glass a little away from the group. “But I can’t say for certain as I’m not entirely sure he knew what I did before becoming a CPA. I’m not even sure he knew I was a CPA,” she added, a thread of sorrow twisting through her. She clipped it short and refocused. Picking up the car, she examined it.
“My dad had a real one of these,” she said. “He spent a year fixing it up. The only time I’ve seen him interested in anything other than his research. This toy is even the same color.”
“What happened to it?”
“He sold it to a man in eastern Washington.”
“You met the buyer?”
She nodded. “We all did. The car had to be trailered, and my dad barely drove his little sedan around town, so my mom did the driving. We did a straight shot on the way there—to a small town north of Spokane. But on the way back, we made a vacation of it. Maybe the only one we ever did together. My mom couldn’t not explore whenever she left the house—whether that was to the grocery store, a drive through the desert, or a hike in Antarctica.”
“She sounds fun.”
“She was the best,” Lina agreed, the familiar pang of loss pressing in on her.
“Do you think the toy car is meant to remind you of the original?”
She eyed it, turning it over in her hands. Would her dad even remember that trip? He’d traveled with her and her mom, sure. But when it came time to explore a town or raft a river or shop, he stayed in the hotel room. Then again, she conceded, he rarely, if ever, forgot things that he went to the trouble of learning. And he definitely wouldn’t have forgotten the car.
The light from the side table caught the black undercarriage of the toy, and she paused. She expected to see the brand of the toy molded along the bottom, so hadn’t paid attention to the little ridges. But as the light hit it, casting tiny shadows across the plastic, a single scratch caught her attention. She held it up to get a better view but needed brighter lighting.
“Shine your phone light here,” she said, glancing at Jackson.
He arched a brow. “That’s not a phone tucked into my boxers.”
She snorted a laugh. No, it most definitely wasn’t a phone. “Use mine,” she said, pulling it from her pocket and handing it over. She rattled off the code, and a second later, light danced across the small surface. She tilted the car this way and that until she caught the right angle.
“Clint Hughes,” she read.
“Who is he?” Jackson asked.
She’d inherited enough from her dad that her memory was better than most. “He’s the man who bought the car.”
Jackson cocked his head. “Any idea where he lives or how to reach him?”
“He owns Long Shadow Ranch in a small town called Last Chance. Not a name a kid who loved mysteries would forget.” She paused, another memory niggling. “We can call him, but I don’t think he’ll tell us what we need. I think he’ll insist on seeing us in person.”
She met Jackson’s dark eyes. It wasn’t much of a clue. They could drive all the way to eastern Washington and find nothing. She didn’t even know if Clint lived at the ranch anymore. But it was all they had, and if it came to naught, they’d waste nothing but time and gas.
As if reading her mind, Jackson nodded. “Then I think we have a plan. Long Shadow, here we come.”