Seconds to Live (Scarlet Falls #3)(31)

“Totaled,” Mac said.

“Sorry.”

He shrugged. “Could be worse. Better the Jeep than me.”

The thought swept a wave of sadness through her. Too much death had filled her life lately. His, too.

Mac walked around the vehicle to stand next to her. “You’re not going to comment on my change of appearance?”

Stella looked him up and down. “You clean up OK.”

“OK?” He laughed. “That’s it?”

Her gaze lingered on his face. “I kind of miss the scruff.”

A quick blast of heat lit his eyes. Then his head tipped back, and he laughed. “Well then, no more shaving for me. Where are we going first?”

“You’re sure you want to get involved? Your family doesn’t need you?” Stella had a feeling that Mac was in funeral-planning-avoidance mode.

“My day is clear until dinnertime.” He turned toward the exit. “As I told you last night, I’m going to look for this woman with or without you.” Picking up a backpack from the ground next to the Jeep, he glanced over his shoulder and gave her an are you coming? look. “I’d much rather work with you.”

Better to keep him in her sights. “Do you promise to stay out of the way and do what I tell you?”

“You’re bossy.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“No, it’s not.”

They walked through the shop. Stella paused next to the rental car. “Do you want to drop this off at your place?”

Mac grinned. “That’s not mine.” He held out his backpack. “Would you mind taking this?”

“No.” Confused, she tossed it into her backseat.

He crossed to a Harley-Davidson parked in the shade of the building. “I told you I had a bike.”

Stella hadn’t noticed the sleek black vehicle in the shadows.

“That’s not what I’d pictured.” She’d thought he’d meant a bicycle, but when he slung a leg over the Harley, the image of him on a mountain bike was ridiculous.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

He held his helmet in two hands. “I’m going to talk to Adam Miller about his missing wife.”

What the . . . ?

“How did you get his name?” she asked.

“He was on the news about fifteen minutes ago, giving an impassioned plea for his wife’s safe return.” Mac settled his black helmet on his head and nodded toward the auto shop. “I saw it on the TV in the office.”

Damn. That was fast.

With no other options, she said. “Let’s drop your bike at your house, and you can ride with me.”

His eyes gleamed with victory. “Yes, ma’am.”

Stella opened her car door. “Follow me.”

But Mac’s engine started with a throaty rumble, drowning out her words. He roared out of the parking lot, and Stella rushed to catch up. Driving after him, she sincerely hoped this was not an indication of how well she could keep Mac Barrett under control.





Chapter Fifteen


In the passenger seat of Stella’s cruiser, Mac rubbed at his jaw. Shaving off his thick beard had left his face raw.

“I’d like to start at the accident scene,” he said.

“Makes sense. We’ll be passing it in a minute.”

Stella cruised to a stop on the shoulder of the road and they got out. Mac walked to the spot where he’d seen the woman. He closed his eyes. In his imagination, he saw driving rain, darkness, and a lifeless, female body. Cold passed through his bones and he opened his eyes to the sunlight.

Stella touched his arm. “Are you OK?”

He nodded, walking to the shoulder and scanning the roadside. He searched a sizable square of ground around the bend in the road, but saw nothing in the mud or tall weeds growing by the shoulder. “I’m pretty good at tracking. I was hoping to find something to follow.”

“Any footprints or tire tracks were washed away by the storm.” Stella watched him search the ground. “We issued an updated alert. Local, county, and state officers are looking for Dena Miller.”

Fifteen minutes later, he gave up. Back in the car, Mac found her case notes on the floor. He opened the file, appreciating her thoroughness and attention to detail. “How long has Dena Miller been married?”

“Five years, but you shouldn’t be reading that file,” she said but didn’t make a move to take it away from him.

Mac speed-read through her notes. He was of the ask-for-forgiveness-later mindset, and she seemed resigned to his intrusion. “What do you know about the husband?”

“We’re still investigating him.” Stella’s tone was curt.

“You don’t like him.”

“I don’t know enough about him to form an opinion.”

Ten minutes later, they stopped at a day spa. Dena’s massage therapist, Laura, verified she’d finished Dena’s massage around one and stated that Dena had acted normally. She didn’t seem to know her client on a personal level and didn’t have anything interesting to say. On the way out of the building, the receptionist gave Stella a printout of Dena’s receipt showing a one-oh-five p.m. checkout.

Stella parked in front of Active Physical Therapy and Personal Training, and they went inside. A door on the right led to a gym room. Weights clanged as a short, ripped guy grunted his way through a set of bicep curls.