The rest of the trip was made in silence until they pulled up in front of the police department in Shelterville, Kentucky. For a moment, they sat outside the whitewashed brick building, gathering their thoughts. Neither had particularly good memories of the place.
“You know the new chief?” Hunter asked.
“No,” Faye said, her stomach jumping all over. Then she spotted Miss Angelina walking down the sidewalk dressed in a nice pink suit. Joy grabbed her, and she reached for the door handle.
“Wait a minute.” Hunter grasped her arm and leaned to look around her. “She’swearing a hat.”
Faye stiffened. Miss Angelina was wearing a wide-brimmed, fancy pink hat with a flowered band. The woman only wore hats when she went to church or war. “What does that mean?” Shrugging off his hand, she opened the passenger’s side door and jumped to the ground, reaching Miss A in long strides for a rose-scented hug. “I have all your files safe in my pack like I promised. Nothing has been wrinkled.” This feeling had to be what cominghome was like.
Miss Angelina hugged back, surprisingly strong for a seventy-year-old woman. Then she leaned back to take a good look at Faye, her brown eyes clear. “Are you all right? I was worried sending you out to that cabin in the middle of nowhere by yourself.”
“I found it easy enough.” Faye smiled and moved out of the way so Hunter could lean down—way down—and hug the person who’d pretty much saved their lives. Faye took a moment to study the woman she loved more than she could love any biological mother. Miss Angelina’s salt-and-pepper hair came to her shoulders in springy coils that Faye had loved to play with as a kid. Her brown skin was still smooth, with generous laugh lines at her eyes and lips. She was a woman who laughed often and well, spreading her joy to kids who needed it. But put a wooden spoon in her hand, and homeworkgot done. Fast.
“Hunter.” Miss A patted his stomach. “You’re not eating enough.” She shook her head, her wide hoop earrings swinging. “If you’re going to guide on the river all day, you need protein. A lot of it.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Hunter said. “I’ll do better.”
Shoot, Faye wished she had that effect on the man. Maybe she should invest ina wooden spoon.
“Let’s go, then.” Miss Angelina hooked her arm through Hunter’s, and he straightened even taller, escorting her around the sidewalk to the front door. Then he opened the doorfor them both.
Miss A swept inside first, nodded at the deputy behind the counter, and continued beyond that down the long hallway to the chief’s office. The sergeant, a fifty-something bald man named Huey, just nodded and let her go on her way. Nobody messed with Miss A.
They reached the office in the back, and she knocked on the speckled glass window in the door.
“Come in,” came a low voice a with strong southern accent.
They walked in, and Faye got her first look at the new chief. About forty, black hair, blue eyes, slight paunch beneath his uniform. His face was smooth shaven and a mite round. He sighed. “I told you I’ll call with any updates.”
Hunter instantly moved past Faye and Miss A, taking the lead. “Is that how you greet your constituents?” His southern drawl came out full force as well, and he looked around, his frown showing he didn’t approve of the office inthe slightest.
Faye swallowed and stepped closer to Miss A, who could probably level them all with a simple sentence. Even so, she didn’t like the chief’s demeanor any more than did Hunter.
The chief sighed. “I apologize. Hello, Miss Angelina.” He turned narrowed eyes on Hunter.“Who are you?”
Faye winced. Not a good start. She moved forward before Hunter could say anything that would get them kicked out. “I’m Faye Smith, and this is Hunter Holt. We’rehere to help.”
The chief’s eyebrows rose. “Holt? As inJackson Holt?”
“Apparently,” Hunter said. “Guess he’s my half-brother. It’s news to me.”
Miss Angelina cleared her throat. “This is Chief Mullins. He was appointed by the mayor last year.”
Ah. Mayor Mullins must be a relative. Faye nodded. “It’s nice to meet you.” She partially turned to see a cork board on the side wall with Jackson Holt and Louise Stockley’s photographs tacked to it, the word “Suspect” above them.
Hunter followed her gaze. “The kid is a victim.Not a suspect.”
Mullins hitched up his belt. “I’ve been talkin’ to folks who know that kid, and he’s a bad seed. No doubt he’ll be charged as an adult in these crimes—if he survives the manhunt.”
Faye’s breath caught. “It’s our understanding he hasn’t been present at any ofthe robberies.”
Mullins shrugged. “They’re on a spree together.” He rocked back slightly on his heels, his hand settled comfortably on the butt of the gun at his waist. “Louise Stockley was out on bond for statutory rape because her husband found out about her and the kid. Then she went on the run. Not only are law enforcement personnel after them, but so is a cadre of bounty hunters who are gonna shoot first and ask questions later. You might want to prepare yourself for how these things usually end. Considering you’re kin and all.”
Hunter’s chin lowered.
Uh oh. Heat flushed down Faye’s esophagus.
Hunter studied the chief. “Just how many of these sprees have you investigated, chief?” he asked with asardonic edge.
