Free Before Sunrise by Diana Palmer

than mine,” he muttered.
    â€œWe’ll have to compare notes sometime. Go on. Tell me.”
    â€œI’ll tell you Monday,” he promised. “See you at your office. Okay?”
    â€œOkay. Thanks again.”
    â€œNo problem. You keep your doors locked and that dog inside with you,” he added. “He’s no good to you if somebody gets to him first.”
    â€œGood point.” She nodded.
    He gave her a last concerned look, climbed into his truck and waved as he sped off down the road, leaving a trail of dust behind him.
    Phoebe opened the chamber of the pistol, stuck the ammunition in her pockets, and went back inside with Jock right beside her.
    Â 
    S HE WASN’T REALLY AFRAID until night came. Then every small sound became magnified in her head. She heardfootsteps. She heard voices. Once, she fancied she heard singing, in Cherokee of all things!
    She gave up trying to sleep about five in the morning, got up and made coffee. She sat at the kitchen table with her head in her hands, and suddenly remembered the file she’d made at her office about things she recalled from her conversation with the murder victim. She’d meant to bring it home and give it to Drake, and she’d forgotten. She’d have to try to remember when he came by her office.
    There was an odd sound in the distance again, like soft singing, in Cherokee. Puzzled, she got up and went to the door and looked out, but there was nothing there. She laughed to herself. She must be going nuts.
    Phoebe left for work a half hour early. As she pulled out onto the main highway, she had a glimpse of an SUV parked on the side of the road opposite her driveway. A man was sitting in it, looking at a map. In the old days, she’d have stopped and asked if he needed help finding something. Now, she didn’t dare.
    She drove to the museum with her mind only half on the highway. She wondered if she should call her aunt and tell her what was going on. But Derrie would only worry and try to make her quit the job and move to Washington. She wasn’t willing to do that. She was making a life for herself here.
    When she got into her office, she pulled up the small file she’d written, detailing her conversation with the dead man, and she printed it out. As an afterthought, she copied it onto a floppy disk and put it in a plastic case for Drake. Perhaps something she recalled would help the investigation and solve the crime.
    She was inclined to discount the man’s story about Neanderthal remains, however. If there had been such a presence anywhere in North America, surely it would have been discovered in the past century.
    Â 
    D RAKE STOPPED BY LATE that afternoon with news about the investigation.
    â€œThe FBI guy may be a scoundrel, but he’s sure at the top of his game professionally,” he remarked with an impressed smile. “He’s already turned up some interesting clues.” He held up a hand. “I really can’t tell you,” he said at once, anticipating questions. “I’m in enough trouble already.”
    â€œFor what?” she asked, aghast.
    â€œIt would take too long to tell you. I’ve asked the guys to do an extra patrol out your way at night,” he added. “Just in case.”
    â€œThanks. I owe you for the bullets,” she said. “And I’ve got something for you.”
    He followed her into her office with a puzzled smile. “For me?”
    â€œWell, for you and the FBI, really,” she had to confess, handing him a folded piece of paper and the CD. “It’s every little detail I could recall about what the man said, how he sounded, background noise, and so forth. It’s not much, but it may trigger some sort of connection when you know more about him.”
    He was reading while she was talking. “Hey, this is pretty good,” he said, nodding. “You’ve got a good ear.”
    â€œI don’t go down the