by Michele Hauf
“Just following a lead.”
“Did that foreigner take off with my rental?”
“If you consider Texas foreign, I suppose so. I found it out near the Birch Bower cabin. It’s been impounded as evidence.”
“Ah, shoot.”
“Don’t worry. You’ll have it back in a month. You haven’t seen that man in the last half hour, have you? Looking for another rental? Walking the streets?”
“Nope, and I pay close attention to what’s going on in this little town. You know all I have to do during the day is sit and stare out at everything.”
“I do know that. But you’re headed home now?”
“No one needs gasoline during a storm.”
“And if they do, they can help themselves,” Jason said of the station owner’s generosity at allowing customers to pay him the next day if they ever needed a fill-up at odd hours. “Give me a ring if you see him on your way home. Deal?”
Rusty nodded. “Sounds like you’ve got something exciting going on.”
“Nothing I can’t handle. Talk to you later, Rusty.”
Jason got back on his snowmobile and turned on the ignition. Smith, aka Herve Charley, could have fled town. But without killing his target? Didn’t sound like a reliable hit man. He must be lying low. That’s what Jason would do if he were in the man’s shoes.
That message from Jacques Patron bugged the hell out of him. It almost felt...staged. But he’d heard the gunshot. Or had he?
Jason tugged out his cell phone. Bay would have contacts in the FBI. They might be able to get more from Interpol, and quicker, than a simple small-town police chief.
* * *
THE WIND WHIPPED blinding snow through the open cabin door as Amelie welcomed Jason Cash inside. He stomped his boots and slapped his gloved hands together. That was followed by a short jump, which successfully released most of the snow from his head, shoulders and boots to the door mat.
Closing the door behind him, he offered her a rosy-cheeked smile, but concern flickered in his green eyes. “You okay?”
“Yes. Two visits in as many days. A girl could only get so lucky.” And maybe she’d been wrong earlier to think he was suspicious of her. “Why did you brave the storm to come out here?”
“Didn’t you get my message?”
“No, my phone is dead. Was just going to charge it when you knocked on the door. The electricity keeps flickering on and off. I suspect it’ll be a cold, dark day.” She noticed his tense jaw. “What’s going on, Jason? Now you’re frightening me.”
“Sorry, didn’t mean to. You’re safe. That’s what matters.” He glanced out the window, where only a sheet of white could be seen. “Visibility on the main roads is already less than zero, but if a guy knows where he’s headed, he can make it a few miles out here. As for the electricity, you’re probably right to suspect it could cut out on you. You should start a fire in the hearth.”
“I’d love to, but the wood out back is frozen. I was going to head out with an ax, but it’s not that difficult for a girl to talk herself out of hard labor.”
He seemed like he had something else to say, but he only clenched his jaw. “I’ll bring in some wood,” he said after a moment. “Safety precautions first.” He slapped his palms together. “I’ll head around back and—where’s the back door?”
She pointed across the living room.
“I’ll bring the wood to that door. Uh...you might want to gather some candles and check if there’s a radio as well. With predicted snowfall of twenty-four inches, you’re going to get snowed in for sure,” he said as he stomped across the living room to the back exit.
He left, slamming the door shut, which whisked in a mist of icy crystals that shivered across Amelie’s face. The wind howled and whipped wickedly outside. She could barely make out the man’s silhouette as he walked by the back window. His black snow gear was obliterated by the whisks of wind and snow. Kind of him to bring in some wood. And much appreciated.
He had been worried about her? That went beyond nice. That was plain sweet. But also, a policeman doing his job. She’d been attacked. She appreciated having a hearty, handsome man show up when she felt most vulnerable.
Back in the kitchen, Amelie plugged her cell phone in to recharge. With hope, there could be a message on it from Jacques Patron.
Chapter Ten
Amelie met Jason at the back door after he’d made four trips and had deposited some surprisingly dry logs in the iron fire dogs designed to hold half a cord of wood. It was already growing dark outside, and with the visibility so low, the sky was fuggy and gray.
Now he pulled off his outer gear and she hung his hat, gloves and scarf on a hook by the front door. He’d brought in a palpable chill, but it was tinged with his cologne, which was a mix of pine and spice. Maybe it was his natural scent? She could breathe him in all day.
“I’ve water on the stove for hot chocolate, then I’ll start the fire,” she said.
“You take care of the treats. I got the fire situation under control. Looks like there’s some of those handy fire starters on the mantel.” He crossed the room and placed a few logs in the hearth.
Checking that the water wasn’t yet boiling, Amelie glanced at her phone, charging on the little stand next to the toaster. “You said you’d left me a message?”
“No need to check it,” he called from before the fireplace. He knelt, clicking the lighter until the starter he held took to flame. He nestled it within the logs, holding it there until the wood started to smolder. When satisfied he’d gotten a flame going, he stood. “I called because...”
She wandered over, gesturing he take a seat on the couch while they waited for their respective projects to heat up.
Jason settled onto the old yellow-and-green-checked couch and sighed. “The prisoner escaped. Tried to strangle Alex when he was serving him breakfast and took off. That’s why I headed out here. To make sure you were safe. After cruising around town and not finding any trace of him, I suspect the guy has holed up somewhere. That’s a good thing. Maybe. He could be inactive until the storm passes.”
“He tried to strangle an officer?” Amelie clamped her fingers about her neck. She had faint bruises from the attack, which was why she’d put on a turtleneck this morning. “You think I’m in danger? Again?”
“The man’s on the loose, Yvette. You were lucky that I arrived in time yesterday.”
She nodded and glanced to the desk where she’d been writing out her pros and cons. Another con? Being pursued by a relentless killer.
A log in the fireplace snapped and took to a glowing yellow blaze. The heat wasn’t yet palpable, and the cozy scene didn’t settle her nerves. Amelie pulled a blanket folded over the back of the couch about her shoulders.
“If he was intent on harming you, or ending your life, I have to believe he won’t leave until the job is done.” Jason glanced to her. “Sorry. Shouldn’t have said it like that. But I won’t lie to you.”
“Of course not. I need to know the truth.” She tugged the blanket tighter around her shoulders.
“And then there’s the phone call from Interpol,” Jason said.
She sat upright. She hadn’t told him she worked for Interpol. Unless Jason had talked to Jacques Patron? Had the assistant director filled him in? Could she come clean to Jason?
The police chief tilted his head and eyed her fiercely. Amelie felt as though he were trying to read her, to look inside and divine her truth. Truths she had been trained to protect at all costs. He knew something. He must.
“Jacques Patron,” he said. “From Interpol.” He rubbed his hands together, blew into them, then shot her another delving look. It felt like a blade stabbing at her throat. “Are you a spy?”
“No!” And then she said more quietly, “Yes. I’m not sure. Maybe?”
Did the man have a thing ab
out spies? He wasn’t making a point of being open-minded, at least not with his actions. Spies weren’t all evil and double-crossing.
“Why would you guess at something like that?” she asked.
“Maybe? Seriously?” He rubbed his jaw with both palms. A sigh had never sounded more exasperated. “How can you not know if you’re a spy? It’s time you let me ask you some questions.”
“What did Jacques tell you, exactly?”
He compressed his lips and nodded. “I get it. Not going to spill the details. Just like a spy.”
“I’m not a spy, Jason. I mean...”
“Listen, Yvette—or is it Amelie?—this is serious. And I need your help. Before I met you in The Moose, I’d just come from a crime scene. Dead body of a young woman found in the ditch. Homicide. Ligature marks around her neck. She had long dark hair, and I’d place her at about your age. And...we got an ID on her. Her first name was Yvette.”
“That’s...”
“Not a crazy coincidence. We have more French Canadians up in our parts than in the lower region of Minnesota. If you’re in the business, you know this is all tied together. Or you have to suspect as much.”
“But that would mean—” Amelie swallowed. “The man who attacked me killed an innocent woman because he thought...she was me? What about her family? Oh my goodness.”
“I don’t normally divulge details of an ongoing investigation to citizens, but it seems like you are involved in some way. And the call from Interpol really threw me for a loop. What is going on? Is your name Yvette or Amelie?”
“I...” Jacques had used her real name. That was the only way the police chief could know such a thing. Unless he’d had her checked out—no. Yvette LaSalle, aspiring photographer, was a hastily created cover that only she and Jacques knew about.
“He specifically asked for Amelie?” she asked carefully.
“Yes. Amelie Des—something or other. He was speaking quickly. Listen, I know something is up with you. You haven’t felt right to me since I met you in The Moose. If you’re on some kind of a mission—”
“I’m not. I promise.”
“Then why do I have a dead body sitting in the Duluth morgue? And an escaped strangler who may or may not be pursuing any woman named Yvette?”
Why, indeed. If someone had truly discovered she had been hiding out here in Minnesota, would they have actually gone after the wrong Yvette? That would make for a very inept hit man.
And yet, someone was after her. She couldn’t ignore that fact.
An innocent woman had been murdered. And the killer was now on the loose. She could tell Jason some of her truth. She had to. “I’m no longer a field operative.”
He lifted a brow.
“I was a field agent for Interpol for six months.”
Jason nodded and clasped his hands before his nose. Thinking. Deciding whether he could trust her? He could. The question was, could she trust him?
“Why didn’t Jacques call me?” she asked. “I’ve been waiting to hear from him.”
“The message said he wasn’t able to get in touch with you. Amelie. Is that your real name?”
She nodded. “That’s strange. The burner phone Jacques gave me—” She stopped before it was too late.
But it already was.
“There’s only one reason a person has need for a burner phone, Yvette. Amelie.”
“Actually, there are many reasons for any person to want to keep a phone not connected to a network.”
He gave her another look of exasperation.
“You’re with law enforcement, Jason. You know I can’t tell you things.”
“If you were on an active case, I might accept that excuse. Are you on a case?”
She shook her head.
“But you’re not telling me something because...? Do you know why that attacker was after you? Why he wanted you dead? And why would your boss call and beg me to protect you, the call ending in the sound of a gun firing?”
“A gun? What happened? Is Jacques all right? What’s going on?”
“You tell me. All I know is the man pleaded with me to protect Amelie, who he said was an employee of his, and then I heard a gunshot and a struggle before the connection went staticky. Marjorie is tracing the call, but I’m going to guess you can give me a direct number.”
“He’s assistant director at the Lyon office of Interpol. Of course you can get that number. I tried to call Jacques on his personal line earlier, and it went to message. Again.”
She caught her forehead against her palm and exhaled. Her world had just tilted. Again. And this time she wasn’t sure how to right things herself. She had to tell Jason her story. It was the right thing to do. Especially if she wanted help from law enforcement.
“I am supposed to be dark,” she said. “No contact. Wait for Jacques to call me. The last time I spoke to him was on the evening that I hopped a flight to the US. And now such a strange call to you.” She stroked her throat and swallowed roughly. “I am in danger, Jason. For something I know.”
“Yeah?” He lifted his chin. His gaze was not soft or reassuring. He wasn’t willing to give her the benefit of the doubt. She didn’t blame him for his caution. Certainly, she would be cautious in this situation. “And what is it you know, Yvette?”
“That’s the problem. I have the information in my head, but I don’t know what it means.”
She exhaled, her shoulders dropping. In the two weeks she had been hiding out here in the States, she’d gone through a list of those people she trusted, who might help her, if she needed to reach out. That list had included only Jacques Patron. She had no close family. And her few friends were all clueless as to her real job.
If she was going to survive, she needed to give Jason as much information as she was able. And then hope that she could trust him.
“It’s why I’m here. My boss sent me into hiding after I told him about a strange list I read. I work in information systems and technology. Data tech, for short. We receive coded documents and dossiers all the time. The information is sorted and filed. But the last email I took in was something I’d not seen before. I thought Jacques should know about it. I didn’t print it out—there wasn’t time to—but I had skimmed it as I was wondering what it was about. I went to his office to tell him.”
“And?”
“He asked me to write it out for him, which I did. After he glanced at it, he expressed worry that what I had seen would attract danger to me. He immediately sent me home. Then, in the middle of the night, I got a call from him telling me to be at the airport in two hours. I grabbed my bugout kit, was given a fake passport for Yvette LaSalle and hopped in a cab, headed to Lyon-Saint Exupéry airport, and...here I am. Still waiting.”
Jason swiped a hand over his chin. “You know something but you don’t know what it is?”
“Exactly.”
“But you just said he asked you to write it out for him. You remembered the whole list you’d read on the computer screen? I don’t get it.”
“I have a photographic memory for certain instances, like when reading. I never forget a single sentence in any book I read. And documents and lists that I’ve read? I can recall them perfectly. Coded lists? I may not know what they mean, but I retain all the data like a computer. Even uncoded items may baffle me if I don’t know the original context.”
Amelie pressed her palms together before her lips and closed her eyes. Her worst nightmare was coming true. “Jason, I’ve got a list in my head, and someone wants to kill me for it.”
Chapter Eleven
Amelie rushed into the kitchen to remove the boiling kettle from the stove. She busied herself with pouring water into mugs to make hot chocolate. But more so, she simply didn’t want to face Jason’s questions. Because he would have a lot. His gaping expression after she’d confessed what was going on had spok
en volumes.
But she couldn’t avoid those questions. No smart agent would withhold information that could help to solve a case.
Placing the mugs on a tray, she turned to find Jason standing right behind her. She hadn’t heard him approach and was so startled she sucked in a breath. He steadied her hold on the tray as she felt it slip. His warm palm slipped over the back of her hand, and all her focus went to that touch.
“Sorry,” he offered. “Didn’t mean to pull a sneak on you.”
Were his green eyes freckled with brown? Mercy. Why did he have to be such an attractive man?
“So what do I call you now? Amelie or Yvette?”
Just when she was getting used to the cover name... “Amelie is my name. But I wonder if keeping the cover name might be easier when we’re around others.”
He shook his head. “Woman, you are full of surprises today. Let me get this for you, Yvette.” He pronounced it purposefully. “Smells great. I love hot chocolate.” He carried the tray over to the couch.
While she pressed a palm over her thundering heart. Chocolate. Handsome man. Sneak charm attacks? A tantalizing touch? Nothing about this day was going to be easy.
Over on the couch, Jason patted the seat beside him. Mug in hand, he put up his feet, clothed in striped wool socks, on the coffee table and sipped.
“I don’t know if I can do this with you being Mr. Casual,” she blurted out.
He sat upright. “Sorry, thought I was making you comfortable. Making it easier to talk and tell me your deepest, darkest secrets.”
“That’s a covert tactic.”
“You know that from experience?” His tone was still calm, but that question had been edged with a sharp interrogative skill.
“I’m not a spy, Chief Cash. Not anymore.”
Amelie sat a few feet away from him on the couch and grabbed the other mug from the tray. It was too sweet, but it was warm, and she needed that right now. The heat from the fireplace didn’t quite reach the couch, for the logs were still kindling to flame.
