Missing In The Glades. Lena DiazЧитать онлайн книгу.
gear.
After a careful look around for predators, she jogged back toward the road. When she finally reached the archway over the entrance to Mystic Glades, she was relieved that the black Charger was gone. But discovering her ruined skirt fluttering in the breeze on top of her upside-down rifle, its nose shoved deep in the bog, had her cursing long and hard. If Jake were here right now she’d lob her knife, end over end, to bury itself in the dirt at his feet just for the pleasure of making him jump.
Wait, her knife. It had been in the skirt. She grabbed the fabric and groaned. It was far too light, which meant Jake had found—and taken—her knife. That was one more sin she could add to her growing list of grievances against the man, Sagittarius or not.
She tied the ragged edges of her skirt around her waist. It was a disaster, but at least it covered her bottom. It took three tugs of the rifle before the mud released it with a big sucking sound, making Faye stumble backward and reigniting her anger.
A car rumbled up the road. Was Jake returning already? She rushed behind the nearest tree. The car came around the last curve and she relaxed. Not Jake. It was Freddie, probably with cases of moonshine in her trunk to stock up before Callahan’s Watering Hole opened for business later tonight. Four more cars passed to and from Mystic Glades. Practically a rush hour for the amount of traffic that normally went up and down this road.
Most of the locals relied on swamp buggies for transportation and headed through the saw grass marsh behind town to barter and trade goods with others who lived the nomadic lifestyle. But it was occasionally necessary to make the long drive down Alligator Alley to bring back more substantial supplies, to exchange mail or even to go to a traditional job. Some of the town’s inhabitants worked on the Gulf Coast in Naples. Others worked for the DOT, keeping the wildlife fencing and roads in good repair. Still others worked at the rest stops along I-75.
Faye did none of those things. She lived above the little shop she ran, The Moon and Star. Thankfully, with the orders she received from her catalog, she made enough money to pay Amy to help her part-time. Amy was at the shop right now. Faye didn’t want to open herself up to questions about her state of undress. But she didn’t have a choice.
She hadn’t had a reason to bring her keys with her this morning, which meant she couldn’t go in through the back door. She’d just have to keep to the trees so no one would see her until she reached the store. Then she could duck inside, make up some kind of story to placate Amy, and go upstairs to shower and change. After that, she could start another search. But first she needed to retrieve the backpack she’d hidden before Jake Young drove up.
After making sure no more cars were coming in or out of town, she raced to the other side of the road. She reached for her backpack. It wasn’t there. She frowned. This was where she’d tossed it, wasn’t it? She turned in a slow circle but didn’t see the flash of purple anywhere. Instead, she saw muddy boot prints. She hadn’t misplaced her backpack.
Jake Young took it.
Cold dread snaked up her spine. Did he understand the significance of what she’d had in that pack? He might be a greenhorn but he didn’t strike her as dumb. After finding her at the crash site last night, and seeing the supplies she had in her pack, he had to have connected the dots. He had to know she’d lied and that she was trying to find Calvin.
She pressed a shaky hand to her stomach. Okay, no reason to panic. Not yet. Think this through. All she knew for sure was that a private investigator was trying to find Calvin. But he hadn’t mentioned anything about finding her. If someone from Tuscaloosa had hired him, they’d have wanted both her and Calvin, wouldn’t they? But Jake hadn’t tried to grab her...or kill her. Which meant he didn’t know about her connection with Calvin, and he wasn’t sent by any of Genovese’s associates.
So far, so good. That had to mean that whoever had hired Jake was from Naples. The worst that could mean, unless Calvin had done something really bad he hadn’t admitted to since moving to this area, was that he’d skipped out on some debts. Maybe a finance company had hired Jake to deliver a summons to take him to court.
Okay, that would be bad, too. That would put Calvin in the public eye again, which would make it easy for their enemies to find him, and her. Shoot. No matter how she looked at this it was bad. There was only one thing left to do.
She looked at the archway over the entrance to Mystic Glades, sorrow heavy in her heart. This was her home, the only place that had ever felt like home. But from the moment she’d met Jake Young, this was no longer her sanctuary. It was no longer safe to stay, either for her or the people she loved. It was time to leave. Time to find a new place to hide.
Jake balanced his ladder-back chair against the wall behind him in the office of The Moon and Star, listening to his slightly inebriated new friend, Freddie, regale him with stories about a certain little golden-haired pixie. Since his latest run-in with Faye, when she’d nearly shot him—again—Jake didn’t feel even a little guilty about the lies he’d told her friends. Both Freddie and Amy, the young girl taking care of customers out in the main part of the store, now believed Jake and Faye had dated in the past and that he was here to surprise her.
She’d be surprised all right, especially since his car was hidden behind the shop so she wouldn’t know he was here until it was too late for her to avoid him.
Freddie—which Jake assumed was short for Fredericka—licked a drop of whiskey off her shockingly red lips and held the bottle up to top off Jake’s already half-full shot glass.
He hurried to cover the glass with his hand. It was still too early for him to indulge in more than the few sips he’d taken to keep Freddie talking. And he needed to keep his wits about him for the inevitable confrontation coming up with Faye.
“Thanks, but I’ve had plenty.”
Freddie shook her gray-streaked, faded orange hair in bewilderment and topped off her glass with more of the amber liquid. “No such thing as plenty when it comes to quality refreshment.” She tossed the whiskey back in one swallow, her throat working and her eyes closing as she obviously enjoyed the burn. “Ain’t nothing like Hennessey, my friend,” she said when she opened her eyes. “I was saving that bottle for a special occasion. And this is definitely a special occasion, meetin’ Faye’s beau.”
That formerly nonexistent guilt started niggling at Jake’s conscience. He didn’t want to go overboard with his fabrications and disappoint Freddie once she found out the truth. Apparently, in the thirteen months that Faye had rented this store and upstairs apartment from Freddie, she’d never once dated. Which seemed to make Freddie all the more eager to bring the two of them “back together.”
“Now, Freddie,” Jake said, “I didn’t exactly say I was her beau. I just said we used to be special friends back in high school.”
For perhaps the dozenth time since she’d started tossing back shots, Freddie giggled. Jake didn’t think he could ever get used to hearing that particular sound coming from a husky, bear of a woman who looked as if she could arm-wrestle just about any man and win—including Jake.
“I know what ‘special friends’ means,” Freddie said, punctuating her statement with air quotes. “I had a few special friends back in my day. Why, when I wasn’t much younger than you must be now, I had a very special friend, Johnny Green.” She shook her head and finger-combed a strand of hair that had escaped her ponytail. Her faded blue eyes took on a faraway look as she began to describe, in lurid detail, exactly what she and Johnny used to do that was so special.
After a decade as a cop and being in all kinds of crazy situations, there wasn’t much that could embarrass Jake. But he could feel his cheeks growing warm, listening to the graphic descriptions Freddie was using to describe things Jake really didn’t want to hear about. Especially from a woman old enough to be his grandmother. He was about to beg her to stop when the bell over the front door rang.