A snuffling sounded from the back seat and she turned. “Roscoe,” she cried out, barreling over the center console to the back seat to wrap both arms around the dog as he sat up. He licked her face and she buried it in his fur, letting the tears fall. Roscoe was a good-size German shepherd with intelligent eyes and a sweet heart. He let her cry all over him as Scott started the engine and began driving down the main street of quaint River City.
“You don’t have to move, Millie,” he said. “But you need to give me some sort of directions.”
She sniffled and lifted her head, still keeping her hold on the animal as if he could tether her to the planet. “Go two miles and turn right on Birch Road. Follow that for fifteen miles and you’ll see another street called Riverfront. Follow that through the trees and turn left at Frost Outfitters.” She cleared her throat. “Then you can go. I appreciate the ride, but I know you’re busy in DC.” Screwing up people’s lives.
“I’m not leaving you while you’re charged with murder,” he bit out.
“Yes, you are.” She was so done arguing with him. Then she leaned back and looked at Roscoe. “What are you doing here?” He licked her chin, almost looking as if he was smiling. She rested against the seat, letting the warm dog comfort her. “Why do you have Roscoe?”
Scott glanced at her in the rearview mirror, his hands large and appearing more than capable on the steering wheel. “Angus and Nari are in Europe, I think Berlin, for some sort of security conference, and they dumped the dog on me.”
“Oh, they didn’t dump him,” she cooed, running her fingers through Roscoe’s thick fur. He snuffled in agreement. Usually when Angus dropped Roscoe on one of his friends, he was looking out for that friend and figured they needed companionship. “What’s going on with you? Are you having problems?” He had taken a bullet for Angus once, so she could be polite and ask after him.
He took the turn onto Birch Road. “I think maybe you should worry about your own problems right now.”
She couldn’t argue with that.
The rearview mirror reflected his piercing gaze. “I found it interesting that the chief of police, who arrested you, also gave you a hug when you left the station today.”
Did disapproval deepen his tone? “It’s a small town,” she said softly. “I’ve known the chief my whole life, but he also had to do the right thing when he saw me covered in the victim’s blood. Plus, the Baker family is a powerful one in these parts, and they’re going to raise absolute hell.”
“I can handle it, Millie, but no more talking to the police or anybody else about this, even if you’ve known them your whole life.” His firm and rather unyielding tone made her bristle, but she couldn’t fault his logic.
“I don’t need you to handle anything.”
Roscoe apparently figured out she was feeling better because he nudged her to the side, flopped all the way down, and put his head in her lap. She obediently began to stroke his head, and he shut his eyes, emitting an odd humming noise. She’d never thought a dog could purr, but this was close enough. “Thank you for not calling Angus or any of the team,” she said grudgingly. “I just can’t handle anything else right now.”
“Totally understand,” Scott said. “They’re meddlers, and we need a clear path to figure this out. Tell me about you and Clay.”
She winced. Discussing Clay Baker held zero appeal. “No.”
Scott stiffened. “For the moment, I’m your lawyer, so you might as well bounce ideas off me. Or, to put it more succinctly, start speaking or I’m pulling over until you do talk.” His tone had gone dominant hard.
She wasn’t up to a fight right now. “Fine. As a nice kid in junior high, Clay turned into a butthead in high school. We dated throughout. He was a big football star and the president of the chess club. Smart guy. When I went to college in Virginia, he went to school in Charleston and eventually became…” She winced. “A lawyer.”
“Ah,” Scott said. “Became a lawyer, huh?”
She grimaced. “Yeah.”
“So that’s why you don’t like lawyers?”
“It’s one of the many reasons,” she said curtly. “Plenty of lawyers screwed up my life until I was finally allowed to live where I wanted, which was with my great-aunt.” Who had instantly given her tools and encouraged her inquisitive nature and propensity to blow up appliances.
Scott slowed down as a cow crossed the road. “I’m sorry to hear that. Keep going with the story,” he ordered.
Whatever. “Clay and I dated on and off through high school and after graduation he asked me to marry him. I said no.” She had fallen out of love with him at that point, if she had ever been in love. It made sense that a lost kid trying to find a home had felt stable dating the prom king—for a little while. Ultimately, they grew apart. “He had political aspirations and was an activist for many causes. He was extremely antidevelopment, which I always thought was odd.”
“Why is that odd?” Scott asked, his gaze taking in the well-kept homes and large lots on either side of the road.
“His family owns an outfitting business,” Millie said. “They run the rivers just like my family. There are a couple of new outfits that want to move in, and my aunt is all for it. The more the better. They’ll help the town. But Clay quite publicly spoke out against more development.”
Scott jolted and looked over his shoulder before returning his focus to the road. “Your family owns an outfitting business?”
“Yes. We provide guided fishing tours as well as whitewater rafting trips. There are a lot of rivers around here, and you can get to the New River in just fifteen minutes if you want a really spectacular experience.”
Scott remained quiet for several moments.
“What?” Millie challenged. “You think I came from London?”
