A Wanted Man. Jennifer MoreyЧитать онлайн книгу.
worry about you. I stop in every once in a while to check on you. I’ve done my duty. Now, since I’m staying through the weekend, how about we camp and fish this Friday and Saturday?”
“You’re staying that long?” Lott didn’t usually stay longer than a day or two.
“Yeah, I met a girl the last time I was here. You might be seeing me more often.”
Figured, a woman had drawn him here. Women drew him everywhere he went.
“Are you free this weekend?”
“Maybe.”
“Maybe?” Lott angled his head, a quiet demand for more information.
“I might take on another case.” He didn’t feel like explaining the Sara Wolfe case.
The front door jingled. He’d left the old bells there so that he’d know when someone arrived. Whoever had entered couldn’t have chosen better timing.
Kadin started toward his office door to go see who’d arrived.
“Don’t forget you have other things in your life besides hunting down killers,” Lott said as Kadin passed. And then as he followed, “Camping. This weekend. No talk about the past, I promise.”
“Another reason I moved here. To get away from old friends.” Lott would know he was kidding. Sort of.
“You couldn’t go far enough to get away from me.” Lott stopped beside Kadin in the lobby, where a woman stood looking around.
Lott whispered a whistle only Kadin could hear.
Few women caught Kadin’s eye anymore, but this one sure did. He had to agree with Lott. On the tall side, pushing five-nine, she had a thick head of wavy auburn hair that would look great spread out on bed sheets, and wide, long-lashed sea-green eyes that would add to the moment.
“Hi. Which one of you is Kadin Tandy?” she asked.
She wore skinny, distressed jeans, with knee-high, spiky-heeled boots and a fancy top with flashy accessories. She wasn’t afraid to be tall and stand out in a crowd. And she must have a creative streak.
“That would be him.” Lott strode to the door. When he was behind the woman, he waved as though the heat were getting to him and mouthed, She’s hot!
“I’ll see you Friday,” Kadin said gruffly.
Lott left, walking backward and pointing both fingers at the woman’s butt and nodding with a mouthed oh yeah.
The woman glanced back and Lott shut his mouth and turned, heading for his Jaguar.
“Friend of yours?” the woman asked.
“One of the best.” Minus the frat house sexual innuendos and constant meddling. “How can I help you?”
She surveyed his business space—the front entry and the vacant reception desk, the open conference room doors, his office and finally the walls. “Haven’t been here long, huh?”
“You’re the second person who said they didn’t like my decorating.”
She laughed good-naturedly. “What decorating?”
“I just moved in.” Two months ago, but who was counting?
She walked farther into the office space. “This is a beautiful building. I wasn’t expecting that.”
What was she expecting? He’d never met her before. “I’m sorry. You know my name but I don’t have the pleasure of knowing yours.”
“Oh.” She laughed again, another big smile. “Penny Darden.” She walked over to him.
“Penny.” He shook the hand she extended. “I assume there’s a reason you came to see me?”
There it was, the grim circumstances that had led her here, dimming her beautiful eyes and sweeping away her cheery smile. A victim’s family behaved that way. Or maybe this woman was a friend. Didn’t matter. Murder never made people happy.
“Sara Wolfe’s parents came to see you,” she said at last, daring to look into his eyes.
He managed to cover up the jarring surprise that gave him. “They didn’t come to see me. The lead detective in her case called me.”
“Oh...of course. I’m sorry.” She seemed nervous. What made her nervous? Him as a man or the Sara Wolfe case?
“Are you media?” he asked.
“No.” She clasped her hands in front of her, a vulnerable action for such a dynamic woman. He felt her energy, could see her basic strength. He saw a lot about people he first met. Those first impressions carried weight.
“I drove here from Salt Lake City after I read about you.”
She’d read about him? So her nervousness came from fascination, not the Wolfe case.
“First of all, I’m really sorry about what happened,” she said softly. “About Annabelle. And your wife. It must not be easy. Losing them like that.”
More dreaded talk. For the second time today, he felt sick to his stomach. He started to get angry. He couldn’t stand sympathy. People offered it when they had no idea what kidnapping did to those who had to live through the torture.
“Just tell me why you’re here,” he bit out.
At the hard clip to his tone, she checked herself. “Right. Sure.” She glanced down and then unclasped her hands and rubbed them on her jeans, shaking off awkwardness. “I actually came to talk to you about Sara Wolfe.”
“Are you related?”
She shook her head. “I heard about her murder on the news.”
“All right...”
She searched his eyes, hesitating but needing something. Without saying anything, she wandered across the small lobby, past a desk to the wall where nothing hung.
“Why don’t we start with who you are?” She’d told him her name but nothing else. “What do you do?”
She faced him. “I’m vice president of Client Services at Avenue One. We’re a big advertising agency, getting bigger each year.”
“How do you know Sara Wolfe?” he asked.
“I—I don’t, I just...read about her murder, and you, after...” She searched his eyes again.
“After what?” he said to help her out.
“One of our biggest clients is Ballard’s Sporting Goods. Have you heard of them?”
“Big sporting goods chain. Yeah.”
“Well, I’ve sort of been seeing the company’s president,” she said. “I met him when we landed the account and started working with him on their ad campaign. Jax Ballard. His older brother founded the company and they run it together.”
“What do they have to do with the Sara Wolfe case?”
Her gaze turned hard and determined, the businesswoman in her coming out. “This is where I have to be very delicate, Mr. Tandy.”
He didn’t have to guess why. “You think Jax Ballard may have something to do with Sara Wolfe’s murder?” No longer sensitive about the case, he felt his detective instincts kicking in. This woman could have a significant lead.
“I need to be sure before...”
“Just tell me what you know.” A little girl had been killed. He’d offer no sympathy to her if she had information that could lead him to the killer.
“I accompanied him to his cabin last Friday night. I walk every day, so I left for one early Saturday morning, before he woke. I followed a dirt road on his property and came upon an abandoned house and barn. I went into the barn