life, their crimes and sins hidden until their deaths had exposed those dark truths.
It appeared that someone had become impatient with Justin's failure to uncover George Caldwell's nasty little secret and had decided to help the investigation himself. Or herself.
One of the blackmail victims?
The killer?
And if either, why give the book to him? Why hand evidence like this over to a detective investigating the murder of George Caldwell? To ensure justice?
Or something else?
Justin looked at the initials that headed each page. Each, presumably, represented a name. Most were unfamiliar to him, or at least suggested no one he knew. Two did suggest names that he knew, or thought he knew.
M.T.—Max Tanner?
And E.C.—Ethan Cole?
"Ah, shit," Justin muttered.
CHAPTER FOUR
Max hadn't planned on following Nell around all day. He really hadn't. And after her cool dismissal at the cafe, seeking her out again should have been the last thing on his mind. But he found himself hanging around where he could watch her Jeep, and when she left town a few minutes later, he followed her at a discreet distance until she turned off into the driveway of the old Gallagher house.
It was late afternoon by then, and he had a dozen things that needed doing at the ranch, but even though he went back home and tried to concentrate on his work, he found his mind wandering again and again. An uneasy sense that he needed to be somewhere else nagged at him.
It had happened before, years ago, an urge he hadn't heeded—something he would forever regret. And it had happened again recently when he'd felt driven to saddle his horse and head toward Gallagher land, discovering Nell in the middle of the woods and in the middle of one of those "visions" of hers that left her frighteningly vulnerable.
He had almost forgotten how unsettling they were, those episodes of hers. She was physically there, eyes open, breathing—but somewhere else as well. Somewhere no one else could follow. And wherever it was, either the effort of getting there or simply what she saw left her pale and shaking.
She had told him once, hesitantly, that she had no control over what happened to her and had no idea what it was that triggered the episodes—but what she saw during them was invariably something that frightened her. When he had pressed her for details all those years ago, she had said only that "some places remember" what had happened in them—or would happen.
It had made no sense to him then. It still didn't.
But whatever he felt about her peculiar abilities, it didn't change his uneasiness and anxiety now. There was someplace he needed to be, and it wasn't here at the ranch. As a mild spring night fell, that restless urge to be somewhere else, to do something, was driving him crazy. He resisted as long as he could, but the feelings just kept intensifying until he couldn't ignore them any longer.
And he was only mildly surprised when his truck rounded the curve near the Gallagher driveway, to see Nell's Jeep pulling out onto the road.
Eight P.M. Where was she going?
In just a few minutes, it became obvious she was heading away from Silence; she took the new highway and headed south, in the general direction of New Orleans.
Max followed cautiously, not even bothering to find reasonable excuses for what he was doing. There weren't any. There was nothing in the least reasonable about any of this, and he damned well knew it.
Traffic wasn't especially heavy on this Thursday evening, so Max stayed back as far as he dared without losing sight of the taillights of Nell's Jeep. Which is why he nearly missed it when she took an off-ramp about a dozen miles from Silence.
Forced to close the distance between them or risk losing her in the darkness, Max followed her for several miles along a winding country road until she pulled off at a small and distinctly seedy motel where, the sign proclaimed, rooms were for rent at an hourly as well as nightly rate. Since only two
It appeared that someone had become impatient with Justin's failure to uncover George Caldwell's nasty little secret and had decided to help the investigation himself. Or herself.
One of the blackmail victims?
The killer?
And if either, why give the book to him? Why hand evidence like this over to a detective investigating the murder of George Caldwell? To ensure justice?
Or something else?
Justin looked at the initials that headed each page. Each, presumably, represented a name. Most were unfamiliar to him, or at least suggested no one he knew. Two did suggest names that he knew, or thought he knew.
M.T.—Max Tanner?
And E.C.—Ethan Cole?
"Ah, shit," Justin muttered.
CHAPTER FOUR
Max hadn't planned on following Nell around all day. He really hadn't. And after her cool dismissal at the cafe, seeking her out again should have been the last thing on his mind. But he found himself hanging around where he could watch her Jeep, and when she left town a few minutes later, he followed her at a discreet distance until she turned off into the driveway of the old Gallagher house.
It was late afternoon by then, and he had a dozen things that needed doing at the ranch, but even though he went back home and tried to concentrate on his work, he found his mind wandering again and again. An uneasy sense that he needed to be somewhere else nagged at him.
It had happened before, years ago, an urge he hadn't heeded—something he would forever regret. And it had happened again recently when he'd felt driven to saddle his horse and head toward Gallagher land, discovering Nell in the middle of the woods and in the middle of one of those "visions" of hers that left her frighteningly vulnerable.
He had almost forgotten how unsettling they were, those episodes of hers. She was physically there, eyes open, breathing—but somewhere else as well. Somewhere no one else could follow. And wherever it was, either the effort of getting there or simply what she saw left her pale and shaking.
She had told him once, hesitantly, that she had no control over what happened to her and had no idea what it was that triggered the episodes—but what she saw during them was invariably something that frightened her. When he had pressed her for details all those years ago, she had said only that "some places remember" what had happened in them—or would happen.
It had made no sense to him then. It still didn't.
But whatever he felt about her peculiar abilities, it didn't change his uneasiness and anxiety now. There was someplace he needed to be, and it wasn't here at the ranch. As a mild spring night fell, that restless urge to be somewhere else, to do something, was driving him crazy. He resisted as long as he could, but the feelings just kept intensifying until he couldn't ignore them any longer.
And he was only mildly surprised when his truck rounded the curve near the Gallagher driveway, to see Nell's Jeep pulling out onto the road.
Eight P.M. Where was she going?
In just a few minutes, it became obvious she was heading away from Silence; she took the new highway and headed south, in the general direction of New Orleans.
Max followed cautiously, not even bothering to find reasonable excuses for what he was doing. There weren't any. There was nothing in the least reasonable about any of this, and he damned well knew it.
Traffic wasn't especially heavy on this Thursday evening, so Max stayed back as far as he dared without losing sight of the taillights of Nell's Jeep. Which is why he nearly missed it when she took an off-ramp about a dozen miles from Silence.
Forced to close the distance between them or risk losing her in the darkness, Max followed her for several miles along a winding country road until she pulled off at a small and distinctly seedy motel where, the sign proclaimed, rooms were for rent at an hourly as well as nightly rate. Since only two
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