He’d find the treasure, lock in the upscale lifestyle and image he’d created, and live the rest of his life on easy street—far away from the hand-to-mouth existence he’d endured growing up, thanks to his father’s ineptitude with money.
And he’d never again have to visit this godforsaken piece of land, devote his weekends to an old lady, or spend his Friday and Saturday nights prowling through the dark bowels of a cursed, haunted hill from which a long-ago relative had plunged to her death.
TWENTY-TWO
BRAD PLANTEDHIS FISTS ON HIS HIPSand surveyed the woods behind Natalie’s house in the early morning light.
If last night’s intruder had dropped anything in his haste to escape, it was well concealed. A thorough search had turned up nothing.
Nor had the hour-long hunt helped his ankle, even though he’d stopped at home to wrap it in an elastic bandage during the waning hours of his patrol last night. While compression had kept the swelling in check, tramping through dense wood on uneven terrain had only ratcheted up the pain again.
“You find anything?” Alan pushed through the brush and joined him in the small clearing.
“No. You?”
“Nothing a human would have dropped. But I did manage to find a pile of deer scat.” He grimaced and lifted a boot.
Brad averted his head from the stench. “Get rid of it before you leave or you’ll stink up the cruiser.”
“That’s my plan. You want to search anywhere else?”
“No. We covered a wide area in the vicinity the guy ran. I have no idea what direction he went from here.” He rubbedthe back of his neck. “This was a long shot anyway.” But one he’d hoped would produce something. Anything.
“You going home to crash?”
“After I stop in to talk with Ms. Boyer.”
Alan scanned his watch. “Isn’t it kind of early?”
“A light came on in the kitchen about ten minutes ago. I’d say she’s up. Thanks for lending your eagle eyes this morning.”
“My eagle eyes didn’t notice the deer scat.”
Brad called up a weary grin. “You weren’t looking for evidence of animals.”
“True. If we’re done here, I’ll get back to my patrol duties.” He struck off for the path that would take him past the cottage and around the house.
Brad followed at a slower pace, favoring his foot. It might not hurt to pay a quick visit to urgent care, on the off chance he’d done more serious damage than he thought.
Near as he could tell, though, it was a sprain. And he knew the treatment for that—rest, ice, compression, and elevation.
Like three of those four would happen anytime soon.
The light was still on in the kitchen, so rather than trek around to the front of the house on his sore foot, he climbed the stairs to the back galérie, grunting with each step.
Maybe he’d try the ice after he got home and take an aspirin ... or two ... or three.
He stopped at the back door and knocked.
Fifteen seconds later, a curtain was pushed aside on the window beside the door and Natalie’s startled face appeared.
The fabric dropped back into place, the lock rattled, and the door opened.
“Brad! What on earth are you doing at my back door at this hour? And where’s your car? I didn’t see it out front.”
“If I can come in, I’ll be happy to answer all your questions.”
“By all means.” She pulled the door wide. “Have a seat. May I offer you coffee?”
