He drove around several streets until he was sure he didn’t see anything suspicious. Then he went back to the shopping center lot and called Decorah Security. Teddy Granada, one of their IT guys, ran the plate for him. The van belonged to Olivia Langston, and the picture on the driver’s license Teddy sent him matched the woman he’d just met.
He spent the next three-quarters of an hour on his laptop, researching information about Olivia Langston. She was an artist with the unusual occupation of creating custom-painted furniture. Probably she used the van for delivering custom pieces to clients.
She lived in Frederick. Had she crossed paths with Travis Carson? She’d blurted out that he was dead. How could she know what had happened to him unless she was involved?
* * *
Olivia madefor the safety of home. She should never have gone to the marina. She should have just delivered the furniture to Sarah and left.
Now she had to face Travis, and he would know immediately what had happened.
Again, she cursed her own stupidity. But it was done now, and she couldn’t take it back.
She saw him the moment she stepped into the house. He was in the front hall standing as though he’d been waiting there for her the whole time she was gone. He looked as solid as she had ever seen him—and like a man whose wife was hours late coming home.
There was no way he could miss the look of worry on her face. He started to say, “What’s...” but stalled in mid-question, and she knew he had pulled the recent scene at the marina from her mind.
She felt a wave of emotion rolling off him, a mixture of fear, confusion, and...anger. He had told her to stay away from his boat, and she had tried to do just the opposite. Only she had never gotten there.
“Sorry,” she breathed, starting to shake. When she reached to wrap her own arms around her body, he got there first, pulling her to himself and holding her. Lord, it was wonderful to feel those arms around her. As she had gotten used to doing, she closed her eyes, making him all the more solid.
His hands stroked comfortingly up and down her arms. He was silent as she sensed him mentally reviewing what had happened.
“Do you have an Aunt Lydia Wilder?” she whispered against his chest.
“Yes.”
That brought a small measure of relief. The guy hadn’t been lying about that part. “And she’d be worried about you? I mean, enough to hire a detective?”
“Yeah, sometimes it felt like she was the only one who cared about me.”
“So she might have hired that guy to find out what happened to you.”
“She’s very precise. She would have done some research and picked a top agency.”
“I could call her...”
“And make the same mistake again?” he asked sharply.
She felt her face heat and burrowed further into him. “Right. How do I know you?” She thought for a moment. “I suppose I could make up some story about booking you for a charter, and you weren’t there when I got to the marina.”
“That sounds kind of lame. And how would you know to call her? You’d have to be closer to me than a fishing charter customer.”
“Right.”
“Let’s not get her any more tangled up in this.”
She knew part of his decision came from worry about his aunt. “Okay.”
And she knew he was reviewing her memories, seeing the scene from her perspective. In a voice she couldn’t quite hold steady, she asked, “Was the guy who said he was a detective one of the men who kidnapped you?”
“No. So he could be telling the truth about what he was doing there. What about the other guy?”
“You didn’t get a good look at him, but I don’t think it’s one of them.”
“I guess Mr. Smith probably has more men working for him.”
Travis eased away from her and started to pace up and down the hall. The mixture of emotions she had first seen on his face had solidified into worry.
