LITMIR.BIZ

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because we’ve been tracking a serial killer.”

      “I know, Morgan told me.”

      Garrett glanced at Chief Wright and back to Lana.

      “He’s my brother-in-law,” Lana explained.

      “That’s great, but I’d rather the whole town not know about our case.”

      “Uh, it’s probably too late. Small towns.” She shrugged.

      Garrett took a deep breath. “At any rate, we have to consider the man you turned away tonight as a suspect.”

      “You mean the serial killer?”

      “Yes.”

      “I doubt it.”

      “Why’s that?”

      “Aren’t serial killers supposed to be smart? He didn’t seem very smart, or very organized….”

      Garrett sensed anxiety inspired her new round of rambling. She’d possibly been inches from a murderer. That realization would make anyone nervous.

      Making direct eye contact, he touched her shoulder. “It’s okay. I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

      “Really,” she said, cynicism lacing her voice.

      Not the response he expected. He removed his hand. “I’m sorry, I’ve offended you again?”

      “No, it’s fine. I’ve had people make promises lately and, well, never mind. What else do you need from me?” She eyed his notebook.

      “Tell me about tonight, when you found the body, if it’s not too upsetting.”

      “We were going to head back because of a change in the weather, but were missing two teenagers, so Sketch and I went looking for them.”

      “Sketch?”

      “The teenager who helps me out. I figured the kids headed up to Lover’s Point, so we came up here and heard a scream and found the couple and the dead body. That’s pretty much it.”

      “You don’t seem that upset by the sight of a dead body.”

      “It’s not my first.”

      “Excuse me?”

      “My dad. I was twelve.”

      “Oh, sorry.”

      Man, he kept stepping into trouble with this woman.

      “But it’s weird, ya know, I mean, first the hole, then a dead body,” Lana said.

      “What hole?”

      “Up by Quinault Rock. Some animal or person digs a five-foot hole in the middle of an uninhabited island. What’s that about?”

      Garrett glanced in the direction of the rock. “Interesting.”

      “Not so interesting when you’re stuck down there for hours.”

      He snapped his attention to her.

      “Yes, I fell into a hole. Literally. No jokes, please.”

      “I don’t joke.”

      “Doesn’t surprise me.” She slapped her hand to her mouth. “I can’t believe I just said that. Sorry, I’ve been up since five and haven’t eaten anything substantial since, I don’t know, noon?”

      “Why don’t you go on back to town? I’ll find you if I have more questions.”

      “Great. Here’s my card.” She dug a colorful card out of her jeans pocket and passed it to him.

      “Hey, Morgan,” she called. “Can I catch a ride back?”

      Garrett motioned to the chief. “I’d like you to have one of your deputies escort Miss Burns back to town. I’m concerned about her safety.”

      “Why?”

      “She may have seen the killer.”

      “Lana, you didn’t tell me—”

      “It was some guy I turned away earlier tonight. It’s probably nothing.”

      “Scott,” Chief Wright motioned his deputy over.

      “No, Morgan, don’t,” Lana said. “I’ll be safe with Scooner.”

      “I’d rather not involve civilians,” Garrett said.

      “He’s a former SEAL and Town Safety captain. She’ll be safe with him.”

      Garrett acquiesced. “Please ask him to escort her all the way home,” Garrett suggested.

      “Will do,” the chief said. “Forensics just docked.”

      Garrett nodded at Lana. “Thank you, Miss Burns.”

      Lana pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “Good night, Agent Drake.”

      With an arm around her shoulder, Chief Wright walked her past the forensics team, who made their way up the hill to the crime scene. Garrett fought the urge to call out one last warning, to ask if she had pepper spray or suggest she stay with a family member tonight.

      Not good. He had to stop letting his protective instincts distract him and focus on finding Red Hollow. He could still be here, in Port Whisper, a threat to innocents like Lana.

      A threat to his son’s grandmother.

      The pain of losing his family rushed to the surface. Being back in Port Whisper where he’d asked for Olivia’s hand in marriage, where they’d planned a future they’d never have, was messing with him. Big-time.

      It was distracting his focus from tracking a killer and protecting a fragile innocent, Lana Burns. The best thing he could do for her and everyone in town was leave the past behind and focus on the case.

      Yet he needed to stop by his former mother-in-law’s place. He owed Caroline more respect than to have her find out about his presence in town through the gossip mill.

      The experience wouldn’t be a pleasant one. He was sure she hadn’t forgiven him, and he couldn’t blame her. His ambition, his workaholic nature inherited from his father, put his wife and, at the time, three-year-old son in danger fourteen years ago.

      “Agent Drake?”

      Garrett snapped his attention to Deputy Finnegan.

      “This is our forensic investigator, Oliver Marsh,” he introduced. They shook hands.

      With a slow, deep breath, Garrett shoved his personal connections to this town away, locking the door. Analyzing his mistakes and regrets would only distract him from his most critical goal: finding the elusive killer before he struck again.

      * * *

      An hour later the forensic investigator offered his preliminary opinion: time of death was between 3:00 and 7:00 p.m.; there was dirt and blood under Washburn’s fingernails as if he had tried to claw his way out of something; and he’d most likely drowned. He wasn’t strangled like the rest of the victims.

      That change in pattern disturbed Garrett the most. His team relied on the profile, designed to help them determine what the killer might do next, to whom and where.

      They docked at Port Whisper and the forensic techs took the body to the lab where they’d continue their analysis. The chief took Garrett to meet with the teenagers who found the body, but they couldn’t offer anything helpful. They were still traumatized by the image of the dead man’s eyes staring up at them.

      It was quarter past eleven. Garrett was tired, hungry and frustrated.

      “I don’t suppose anything’s open this time of night?” he asked as the chief drove Garrett back to his car.

      “Actually, the Turnstyle is open until midnight. Up Main Street about four blocks.”

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