What Are You Afraid Of? (The Agency #2)(25)

“At least the snow has stopped,” she said.

He glanced up to survey the passing scenery. White. White. And more white.

“My feet are still going to get wet.” He swallowed a sigh. “I didn’t pack any boots.”

“Do you own any?”

“No.” He hadn’t bothered buying boots since he’d moved to California. He glanced at her feet, which were covered by a pair of tennis shoes. “What about you? I thought you were staying in the mountains?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t bother to pack them.”

He returned his gaze to his computer, keeping his tone light. “Do you own the cabin you were staying at?”

There was a long pause, as if she wanted to ignore his question.

“No, I just rented it for the holiday season,” she at last admitted.

“Alone?”

She sent him a quick glance. “Why do you assume I was alone?”

A strange tension clenched his stomach. As if the thought of her with another man was distressing.

“If you had a lover with you, he would never have allowed you to travel away from the cabin without him,” he said, feeling the heat of her glare.

“I don’t need a man to tell me what I can or can’t do.”

“Plus, he would have punched the deputy in the nose who assumed you sent those pictures to yourself for a publicity stunt, and you would be busy trying to bail him out of jail,” he continued smoothly.

She released a grudging laugh. “You are . . .”

“Adorable?” he suggested when she struggled to find the right word. She rolled her eyes. “Why a cabin?” he asked.

She shrugged. “I prefer to spend the holidays someplace where I can have some peace and quiet.”

“Me too.”

She shot another quick glance in his direction. “Do you have any family?”

He grimaced. It was his turn to feel the barriers come up. His past might not have hit the scandal pages, but it had been far from perfect.

Still, he knew that if he ever wanted her to open up, he would have to share at least a few details.

“My father and his second wife live in Texas.” He shrugged. His only contact with them was a Christmas card that had arrived the week before. It was sitting unopened on his desk. “Or maybe it’s Florida now,” he admitted, having a brief memory of the return address. Seemed like it had Miami typed on it instead of Austin. “They move every year or so.”

She slowed as a car whizzed past them, throwing up a slush of salt and ice that smeared their window. She hit the wipers.

“You’re not close?” she asked.

He snorted. That was the understatement of the century.

“No, we’re not close. My only real family is my grandmother. She lives in Iowa, but she’s spending the holidays with her sister in Arizona.” A genuine smile curved his lips. “She called me yesterday to say that she won seventy-two dollars at bingo. She couldn’t have been more excited if she’d hit the lotto ticket.”

“What about your mother?”

“Dead.”

He heard her breath catch. “I’m sorry.”

He pointed toward the mile marker that was listed in the police report.

“The truck was found just ahead,” he said, eager to change the conversation. “Why don’t you pull off the road at the rest area?”

She slowed, turning onto the narrow road. The rest area wasn’t much more than a couple of picnic tables and a small brick building that housed the bathrooms and a vending machine.

She parked and they both glanced around. “There’s not much here.”

Griff nodded, his gaze skimming over the snowy landscape still visible despite the deepening shadows.

“A perfect place to dump the truck,” he said. “There’s no exit ramps nearby. No businesses. No houses. No tourist attraction that might encourage a passerby to take pictures to put on social media. Or for the cops to have a license reader set up.” He grimaced. If he was going to abandon a vehicle, this was the exact spot he would choose. “Nothing but empty fields as far as the eye can see.”

“The killer must have had someone pick him up.”

“Yes.” Griff nodded. She was right. The killer had to have a way to dump the truck and then get away. A partner? Damn. That was disturbing.

“Do you think the women were murdered here?”

He shoved away the nasty fear there might be more than one person out there hunting women. Speculation wasn’t going to help.

Right now he had to concentrate on digging up as much concrete information as he could.

“I can’t say for sure, but according to the report, the truck was left on the shoulder of the highway. If I was the killer, I would be afraid someone might stop to see if I needed some help.” He waved a hand to the small rest area. “If I was searching for someplace to kill my victim, or to dump the body, I would choose someplace less visible.”

She gave a slow nod. “So where could you kill five women without being noticed?” She paused, her fingers tightening on the steering wheel. “The truck stop.”

“That would be my guess,” he agreed. “No one would think twice about a semi parked in the back of a lot reserved specifically for truckers. They wouldn’t even notice a woman climb into the back trailer with a man.”