by Irene Hannon
Grabbing Pops’s sweater from the foot of the bed, she swung her legs to the floor and shoved her feet into her slippers. If sleep was going to play hide-and-seek, she ought to make up some of the ground she’d lost on the manuscript today while distracting thoughts of Finn played havoc with her concentration. And why not build a cozy fire? There was plenty of well-seasoned wood on the porch, and the April nights were chilly. With a crackling blaze in the hearth, a cup of hot chocolate by her side, and a compelling story awaiting her fine-tuning, she might actually make some headway during the middle-of-the-night hours.
It was worth a try, at any rate.
Because thinking about a certain former special forces soldier while sleep eluded her was not a productive—or relaxing—way to spend the rest of the night.
The bulky diving suit was hot as blazes.
Roger paused, perspiration dripping off his forehead. Donning the getup at the car had been a bad idea. The dry suit had been designed for diving in water temperatures below sixty, not hiking in fifty-degree weather.
Too bad it wasn’t midsummer. In warm weather, all he would have needed for the shallow lake dive was his breathing equipment. No dry suit, no gloves, no hood. He could have traveled a lot lighter.
At this time of year, though, spending more than a few minutes in Leo’s lake without protective gear would put him at serious risk of hypothermia.
But next visit, he was changing a lot closer to the lake—even if that meant he’d have more paraphernalia to lug through the woods.
He swiped a hand across his brow. If only Dana Lewis hadn’t shown up. It would be so much simpler to drive up Leo’s road and park by the cabin. Having to find an isolated spot to hide the car on the adjacent national forest land, then trek in from the back of the property, doubled the difficulty of the task.
On the plus side, however, he’d had most of the proper equipment on hand from when he and Leah had taken those scuba classes and practiced at Bonne Terre mine. Compared to that location, diving in Leo’s lake should be a piece of cake.
The real challenge was getting there in a dry suit with an air tank strapped to his back while he juggled the metal detector he’d bought yesterday in St. Louis in one hand and an oversized duffel bag with the rest of his gear in the other. A third hand to push through the brush would have come in handy.
But lamenting the situation wasn’t going to change it.
At least tonight’s clear weather and full moon eliminated the need for a flashlight. There wasn’t much chance Dana Lewis was up and about at this hour, but why draw attention to a bobbing beam in the woods just in case?
He rested a shoulder against the nearest tree and glanced around, his eyes fully adjusted now to the dimness. He’d never been on this part of Leo’s property. The older man hadn’t been inclined to wander too far from the house in recent years, and while Leo’s open invitation to hunt on the land had been gracious, the appeal of shooting innocent birds and animals had always eluded him.
Roger surveyed the trees and scrubby brush. Everything was beginning to leaf out, which would make this trek tougher on every subsequent trip. If lady luck smiled on him, he’d hit pay dirt in the lake after a search or two and . . .
His gaze homed in on a small white box a few feet away, and he bent down for a closer inspection. As the familiar design registered, he set the metal detector on the ground and picked up the container, angling it toward the light of the moon.
Sudafed—and of recent vintage, given the like-new condition of the cardboard.
He bowed the package. An empty blister pack was inside.
Odd place for a package of cold medicine. Of course, it could belong to Dana. If she’d gone exploring, it might have fallen out of her pocket. Or someone hiking in the national forest could have wandered onto her land by accident and dropped it.
Or it might belong to someone using Sudafed for an illegal purpose. There was a lot of that going around these days.
Roger dug out his watch. Twelve-thirty. The dry suit might be uncomfortable, but it hadn’t slowed him down. He could spare ten minutes to nose around, see if there was anything else suspicious in the vicinity.
It took him less than five minutes to find a crude outbuilding that had been designed to blend into its wooded surroundings. The padlock barred him from entry, but an empty box of matches near the corner and a sniff test at the crack in the door that offered a whiff of cat urine verified his suspicions.
There was a meth lab on Leo’s property—and from all indications, it had been here awhile. A daylight search would no doubt turn up a nasty trove of toxic waste as well. It appeared to be a small operation . . . but no matter the size, it was big-time illegal.
He sighed. This wasn’t the first meth lab he’d dealt with, and it wouldn’t be the last. Missouri had been the meth capital of the US for years. The state might have given up that dubious honor, but the drug remained a huge challenge for law enforcement . . . and the isolation of national forests earned those locations favored status among cookers.
This guy—and possibly a partner—were smart, however. By using tricky-to-access national forest as insulation, they’d reduced the chance that some unwary hiker would stumble onto the lab. And doing their cooking on private land that, until the past few weeks, had been unoccupied for an extended period, had given them complete privacy.
Conclusion? There was a high probability he was dealing with a local who knew the area, was clued into the town grapevine—and couldn’t be happy about Dana Lewis’s arrival.
Yet based on the pristine package of Sudafed, the owner of this lab wasn’t letting her presence slow him down.
Another trickle of sweat rolled down his temple, and he wiped it away. He’d have to bust this, of course. Meth was a dirty, destructive drug that needed to be wiped off the face of the earth. And it would be a straightforward investigation. An “anonymous” tip about an illegal activity was common in law enforcement, and Dana Lewis wasn’t likely to balk if he stopped by and asked if he and his officers could poke around. It wouldn’t take long for one of them to stumble across this lab, and setting up a stakeout wouldn’t be difficult. The highway patrol was always happy to send a few reinforcements to help in a situation like this.
That, however, was a chore for tomorrow. Tonight, he had a higher-priority task.
Leaving the makeshift lab behind, he continued toward the lake, compass in hand to guide him.
But as he drew close to his destination, he didn’t need any navigational assistance. Light was shining from several windows in the cabin on the far side of the water.
He halted, his heart missing a beat. Why would Dana be up at this hour of the night?
Could be lots of reasons, Burnett. Stay cool.
He forced the left side of his brain to engage. She might suffer from insomnia, as he did. Or perhaps she was a night person who went to bed late and slept in every morning. Or a cold or upset stomach could be disrupting her sleep.
No matter. Whatever the explanation for her nocturnal activity, there wasn’t much chance she was wandering around outside in the dark. He’d be fine as long as he entered the water from this side of the lake.
Roger continued to the bank and finished donning the rest of his equipment, hands fumbling despite his practice session at home. Suiting up in your basement was a lot different than suiting up in the woods beside a body of very dark, intimidating water.
A shiver snaked through him despite the sweat trickling down the sides of his face. Maybe this was a bad idea after all. It wasn’t too late to change his mind. He could retrace his steps through the woods, dump all his gear back in the basement, and return the metal detector tomorrow.
But if he did, Woodside Gardens was going to throw Leah out.
No.
He had to do this. And he could do this. He might prefer the clear, blue waters of the Caribbean, but he’d dived in caves. This was no different. Plus, the payoff could be huge—in both dollars and peace of mind a
bout Leah.
Squaring his shoulders, he finished his preparations and picked up his brand-new VLF metal detector. Weighed it in his hands. There had been cheaper models in the store, but the sales guy had steered him away from those. For fresh water, it seemed he needed the very low frequency version—and this one could detect objects almost two feet underground. That was important. After fifty years, it was very possible the ammo cans were buried under layers of silt.
The more expensive model was worth the extra couple hundred bucks if it led him to the gold—and now was the time to put it to the test.
Roger eased into the water . . . stretched out . . . and let himself sink into the murky depths as he flipped on his dive light.
Praying the lake would give up the treasure that would solve all his problems.
Someone was driving up the road to her cabin.
As the crunch of gravel penetrated Dana’s consciousness, she scrambled up from the couch in front of the fireplace where she’d fallen asleep around four.
It wasn’t a delivery. She hadn’t called in a new order to either the general mercantile or the hardware store. Nor had she invited anyone to visit.
Her pulse picked up. All her life this had been a peaceful, safe refuge—but Pops had always been with her. What would she do if someone with bad intentions showed up? Look how easily Finn had gotten in last Sund—
Finn.
Could he be her visitor?
Draping the afghan Mags had knitted two decades ago around her, she padded back to the kitchen, lifted a shade an inch, and peered out.
She saw the SUV before she spotted the driver.
It was Finn.
Relief—and another, sweeter emotion—washed over her.
A moment later, he appeared from behind the vehicle carrying . . . She strained to identify the object, but her eyes wouldn’t cooperate.
He disappeared as he circled to the front of the cabin. Clutching the afghan, she moved toward the living room to follow his progress. Glanced in the hall mirror as she passed. Stopped.
Her vision might be blurry, but even she could tell the fuzzy woman in the reflection was a mess. Hair sticking up, smudges under her lower lashes, disheveled clothing.
She looked like a refugee from one of those Halloween haunted houses.
And Finn was going to knock on her door any minute!
Running her fingers through her hair, she dashed for the bedroom to grab her robe, waiting for his summons.
It never came.
Huh.
Wrapping her robe around her, she returned to the living room and peeked out the window.
He was down at the dock. While she watched, he boarded the rowboat and sat on the seat.
Had her neighbor come to take a solo spin around the lake?
No.
He bent down, as if he was working on something.
A reprieve!
Dana dashed back to the bedroom, and in short order had pulled on her jeans, slipped on her Stanford sweatshirt, and run a brush over her hair. The biggest tangles would have to wait until later.
The knock sounded on her door as she applied a touch of lipstick—and her hand jerked, creating a pink slash under her nose. She grabbed for a tissue to wipe it off.
So much for cool and composed.
Finn knocked again.
Rubbing at the spot, she dashed out of the bedroom, halting for a second at the hall mirror to finish the lipstick removal job before pulling open the door.
He smiled, giving her a quick, appreciative once-over that made her toes tingle. “Good morning.”
“Good mor . . .” Her voice rasped, and she cleared her throat. “Morning.”
“I noticed the other day that two of the screws in the oarlocks were loose. I didn’t have the right size bit with me, so I came back to fix them.” He held up a power drill. “I hope I didn’t interrupt your concentration.”
“No. I . . . uh . . . worked late last night and fell asleep on the couch. I hadn’t gotten rolling for the day yet.”
Faint creases appeared above his nose. “Did I wake you?”
“I needed to get up anyway.”
“Does that mean you haven’t eaten yet?”
She blinked. “Yes.”
“Then join me for breakfast at the Walleye Café in town. I stopped in there the other day for pie and coffee, and from my spot at the counter I had a bird’s-eye view of the orders as they came up. The food looks great.”
Finn wanted to take her to town for breakfast.
While she tried to wrap her mind around that, he continued.
“Nice as this spot is, it might be good to get out and see a bit of the world once in a while. And my chariot is at your service.”
It was hard not to respond to his engaging grin. Plus, she’d made serious progress on the book in the wee hours of the morning. She ought to be able to meet her end-of-day deadline even if she took an hour or two off this morning for a trip into town. What harm could there be in an innocent little outing like that?
Ha. As if you don’t know.
She throttled the little voice in her head.
“Okay. Thanks. I love their cinnamon rolls.”
“Great. Are you ready now, or do you need a few minutes?”
“Can you give me five?”
“I could be persuaded to go as high as ten. Beyond that, my rumbling stomach will begin to make very loud protests—and it won’t be pretty.”
Her mouth twitched. “I’ll rush.”
“I’ll wait.” He strolled over to one of the rocking chairs and sat.
Dana closed the door. Five minutes. She’d have to prioritize. Mascara . . . hair . . . a nicer blouse—those were the essentials.
Because despite the caution signs hovering around Finn, as long as she didn’t let the buzz of attraction short-circuit her brain, there was no reason she shouldn’t primp a little or enjoy a simple meal in the company of an attractive man.
You’re playing with fire, Dana.
She moved into the bathroom, picked up her mascara wand—and tried again to muzzle the nagging voice in her mind.
It refused to be silenced.
And maybe the warning was sound.
But she’d be careful. She was a thirty-year-old woman, not a teenager with raging hormones. She could recognize Finn’s charm without succumbing to it.
Of course she could.
Besides, how much could happen over bacon and eggs in the folksy ambiance of the Walleye Café?
Roger rubbed a hand down his face and regarded the gaunt, bleary-eyed stranger in the bathroom mirror.
He looked like . . . a word Leah preferred he not use.
But the term was accurate.
Dark circles hung under his bloodshot eyes, and the creases around his mouth and nose seemed to have deepened overnight.
His trek through the woods weighed down with equipment, his forty-five-minute dive in a cold, dark lake until his air tank gave out, and the worry about those burning lights in Dana Lewis’s cabin had all taken a toll.
To make matters worse, he had nothing to show for his effort. The metal detector hadn’t registered anything that could be an ammo can containing gold. Plus, he’d covered far less of the lake bottom than he’d hoped.
This could be a long, slow search.
And he didn’t have the luxury of time.
His cell began to vibrate, and he pulled it off his belt, fighting back a wave of panic. He needed to stay calm, continue to go about his daily routine as if nothing was wrong. Letting nerves rattle him would be counterproductive.
“Good morning, Lynette.”
“Morning, Chief. I didn’t wake you, did I?”
“No. I’m up and dressed and getting ready to come in.”
“I thought you were under the weather.”
“I was when I left the message last night. Must have been the four-day-old leftovers I had for dinner.” Lie. “But I’m feeling better now.” Double lie. “What’s up?”
Roger turned his back on the mirror and rested a hip on the vanity. “What happened?”
“More graffiti spray-painted on the bleachers and picnic tables. Nasty stuff, according to her report. It also appears someone drove an ATV over the ball field. You can imagine what that did with all the rain we’ve had.”
Yeah, he could. What he couldn’t imagine, despite all his years in law enforcement, was why some people got a kick out of destroying property.
“Tell the mayor I’ll pay him a visit after I drive out and take a look at the damage.”
“Be prepared for him to bring up surveillance again. He mentioned it when he dropped in.”
Like they had the staffing for that.
“Thanks for the heads-up.”
“We’ll see you later.”
As the line went dead, Roger twisted his wrist. Nine-seventeen. A much later start than usual to his day—but he’d already been operating on fumes before last night, and a three-thirty turn-in hadn’t helped. Buying himself a few extra hours of sleep with an upset stomach excuse had been a necessity, not a luxury.
And truth be told, while bad food wasn’t the cause, his stomach was churning. Had been for days. He’d have to stock up on some antacids at the mercantile if the indigestion became chronic.
Pushing himself to his feet, he risked one more glimpse in the mirror. At least no one would question his complaint about feeling poorly, given his haggard appearance.
But there was work to do, and wallowing in self-pity wasn’t going to improve the situation. Maybe once he drove out to the picnic grounds and met with the mayor, he’d stop at the Walleye for a cup of coffee and a dose of Hazel’s good humor to perk up his spirits.
He left the house through the front door, locked it behind him, and trudged down the path to the patrol car in his driveway. The daffodils that rimmed the walkway, planted by Leah and tended with her loving hands each spring, were once again in full bloom, as dependable as the cardinal’s trill that serenaded him each morning.
