he’s come up with.”
“You think he’ll work with you?” she asked doubtfully. “He seemed the type to resent outsiders, and he wasn’t exactly friendly to us. Now, Deputy Barney seemed all kinds of eager to work with me. I could probably pump him for some—”
“No.” She looked far too pleased at his knee-jerk response. He scowled. “Have you got any better ideas?”
“Well, yeah,” she answered. “We have to stop being outsiders.”
“Come again?”
“Let’s move into the area. Settle down.”
“What are you talking about?” He was lost, and he considered himself to be a reasonably bright fellow.
“Think about it. We’ve already established ourselves as a couple. I mentioned to the sheriff that we’re thinking about moving off the grid and into this area. So let’s rent a little place. Meet the neighbors. They’ll be a lot more likely to talk to us than if we’re tourists passing through.”
The idea of setting up house sent figurative butcher knives slashing through his body. It was a cover, dammit. Just a cover. An act. Lord knew he’d become a hell of an actor over the past few years. He could put on this fake skin and live in it for a while if he had to.
“Where do you suggest we move to?” he asked.
“Spruce Hollow, of course.”
“It’s a bold gambit.”
She grinned over at him. “Are you in?”
“Your middle name is trouble, isn’t it?” he grumbled.
“With a capital T. Just leave it to me. I’ll set up the rest of our cover tomorrow. All I need you to do is get some of the kind of clothes you normally wear.”
“That I normally... What are you talking about?”
“You look like a pig dressed up as a showgirl.”
“Excuse me?” he exclaimed.
“Well, you don’t look like an actual pig. You’re quite a hottie, in point of fact. But you look totally uncomfortable in those jeans and that ridiculous flannel shirt. If you’re going to blend in, you have to look like yourself.”
He frowned. “I’d have to make a trip to a real city to shop.”
“You do that and I’ll take care of the rest. By the time you get back, I’ll have all the arrangements made.”
He stared at her in shock. Steamroller, thy name is Sammie Jo .
* * *
He got back to the motel room after his road trip to Charleston at about noon and found a note on the kitchen table.
G.—I took the liberty of packing your stuff—nice silk boxer shorts, BTW. Check out of the motel and meet me at this address. And for God’s sake, wear some uptight rich-guy clothes.
—S.
She’d checked out his underwear? Vixen. He’d have to return the favor sometime. He noticed belatedly that the sticky note was pasted to a hand-drawn map. What had she gone and done?
Bemused, he followed her instructions to Spruce Hollow’s one and only side street and pulled up in front of a one-story brick ranch house that looked straight out of the 1950s. Oh, God. He couldn’t do this.
The house was low and rectangular, nothing like the neat, craftsman-style home that flashed into his head with blinding clarity. A home with blood everywhere. Death. And that horrible, primal scream that wouldn’t stop.
Chapter 4
H e’d done some hard things in his life, seen and survived horrors that would have broken a lesser man—at least that was what the shrinks told him. But turning the Bronco into that little ranch house’s driveway, parking it and climbing out like he wasn’t screaming in terror inside his head was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
Two women emerged from the house as he stood by the SUV fighting every warning his body could shout at him to turn and run until he couldn’t take another step. The yard was overgrown and full of weeds, but a neat carpet of green swam in his mind’s eye. Paint peeled from these shutters, and a rusty rain gutter dangled from the front porch. That other house had been fully restored to pristine perfection.
He forced his mind to a place of calm. No emotion. It
“You think he’ll work with you?” she asked doubtfully. “He seemed the type to resent outsiders, and he wasn’t exactly friendly to us. Now, Deputy Barney seemed all kinds of eager to work with me. I could probably pump him for some—”
“No.” She looked far too pleased at his knee-jerk response. He scowled. “Have you got any better ideas?”
“Well, yeah,” she answered. “We have to stop being outsiders.”
“Come again?”
“Let’s move into the area. Settle down.”
“What are you talking about?” He was lost, and he considered himself to be a reasonably bright fellow.
“Think about it. We’ve already established ourselves as a couple. I mentioned to the sheriff that we’re thinking about moving off the grid and into this area. So let’s rent a little place. Meet the neighbors. They’ll be a lot more likely to talk to us than if we’re tourists passing through.”
The idea of setting up house sent figurative butcher knives slashing through his body. It was a cover, dammit. Just a cover. An act. Lord knew he’d become a hell of an actor over the past few years. He could put on this fake skin and live in it for a while if he had to.
“Where do you suggest we move to?” he asked.
“Spruce Hollow, of course.”
“It’s a bold gambit.”
She grinned over at him. “Are you in?”
“Your middle name is trouble, isn’t it?” he grumbled.
“With a capital T. Just leave it to me. I’ll set up the rest of our cover tomorrow. All I need you to do is get some of the kind of clothes you normally wear.”
“That I normally... What are you talking about?”
“You look like a pig dressed up as a showgirl.”
“Excuse me?” he exclaimed.
“Well, you don’t look like an actual pig. You’re quite a hottie, in point of fact. But you look totally uncomfortable in those jeans and that ridiculous flannel shirt. If you’re going to blend in, you have to look like yourself.”
He frowned. “I’d have to make a trip to a real city to shop.”
“You do that and I’ll take care of the rest. By the time you get back, I’ll have all the arrangements made.”
He stared at her in shock. Steamroller, thy name is Sammie Jo .
* * *
He got back to the motel room after his road trip to Charleston at about noon and found a note on the kitchen table.
G.—I took the liberty of packing your stuff—nice silk boxer shorts, BTW. Check out of the motel and meet me at this address. And for God’s sake, wear some uptight rich-guy clothes.
—S.
She’d checked out his underwear? Vixen. He’d have to return the favor sometime. He noticed belatedly that the sticky note was pasted to a hand-drawn map. What had she gone and done?
Bemused, he followed her instructions to Spruce Hollow’s one and only side street and pulled up in front of a one-story brick ranch house that looked straight out of the 1950s. Oh, God. He couldn’t do this.
The house was low and rectangular, nothing like the neat, craftsman-style home that flashed into his head with blinding clarity. A home with blood everywhere. Death. And that horrible, primal scream that wouldn’t stop.
Chapter 4
H e’d done some hard things in his life, seen and survived horrors that would have broken a lesser man—at least that was what the shrinks told him. But turning the Bronco into that little ranch house’s driveway, parking it and climbing out like he wasn’t screaming in terror inside his head was one of the hardest things he’d ever done.
Two women emerged from the house as he stood by the SUV fighting every warning his body could shout at him to turn and run until he couldn’t take another step. The yard was overgrown and full of weeds, but a neat carpet of green swam in his mind’s eye. Paint peeled from these shutters, and a rusty rain gutter dangled from the front porch. That other house had been fully restored to pristine perfection.
He forced his mind to a place of calm. No emotion. It
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