“Make sure to check your mirrors on the way home.”
“I will. Rawley already told me what to do if I see them following me. Are you sure I can’t help out?”
“I’m positive. Let’s have lunch one day.”
“I’d love that.”
After giving Sydney a hug, she picked up her purse and walked out the door.
Skylar couldn’t believe how cold it had gotten. The fifties would feel good right now because it was forty and dropping. She was going to light a fire in the hearth and relax.
Chapter Twelve
Rawley threaded his Silverado through the late-afternoon traffic, the roar of engines and relentless honking rattling against the cab. He kept a steady grip on the wheel as he pressed the steering wheel button to call Skylar.
“Hey,” she said.
“Hi, baby. Are we getting together tomorrow night?” he asked.
“Yes,” she said softly.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I love staying in with you. I just hate leaving Cosmo every weekend.” She sounded like she was torn between love and guilt.
Rawley watched a semi thunder past, its wake rattling the pickup’s frame, but it wasn’t a Peterbilt. “I know, but I don’t want my dogs alone. They’ll think I abandoned them.”
“Bring your dogs here.”
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”
“Yes. I’m sure they’ll chase Cosmo for a while, but I bet they’ll become friends.”
He chuckled, imagining his two dogs circling her cat. “Or they’ll eat him.”
“What?”Her voice sharpened, alarmed.
“Nothing. I’ll see you tomorrow evening. I’ll swing by home first. Should be there by six.” He watched the sun sink lower, painting the sky blood-orange.
“Could you get some burgers?”
“Sure. Your usual?”
“Yes, please.”
“Okay. Talk soon. Sleep well.”
“You too.”
He tapped the button, ending the call. The Silverado rolled into his driveway, crunching over gravel. He stopped so he couldget his mail. He killed the engine, stepped out into cold, early-evening air. The sun hung low as he crossed the deserted road, boots clicking on the smooth asphalt, and swung open the old metal mailbox door. Inside lay only a lonely spider web strung between the hinges.
A low rumble startled him. From behind, a red Ford F-150 pickup with oversized mud-caked tires that lifted it nearly half a foot off the ground slowed to a crawl. The tinted passenger window dropped with a lazy electric whir, and a familiar face emerged, thin-lipped smile twitching, eyes as cold as winter steel.
“Well, if it isn’t Agent Bowman,” the man said, voice steady. The man’s gaze drifted over the empty fields. “Nice area out this way. Quiet. I bet no one hears much if something goes on out here.”
Rawley placed his hand over his weapon. “Move along before I make you,” he snarled through clenched teeth.
The man’s laugh cut through the air. He touched the brim of his hat gunned the engine and drove off. The sedan behind him stopped and waved Rawley across. He bolted to his truck, slammed the door, and tore up the driveway, gravel exploding behind him like shrapnel.
