Free Tempting Evil by Allison Brennan Page B

escape?” Annie felt ill.
    “Not yet, Ms. Erickson, but whatever information you have about Aaron’s feelings toward Ms. Sutton would help us determine what his next move might be.”
    Annie swallowed a sob. She pictured young Aaron, big blue eyes looking out the window for a mother who never arrived on time. Young Aaron making sure he was clean, his clothes pressed, his hair combed all the time, just in case his mother showed up that day. Ginger didn’t like dirty little boys…
    “It’s my fault.”
    “What?”
    “Mrs. Sutton responded to his first letter. I didn’t send it from the prison, but instead put my return address on the envelope. I was going to bring it to him, but after reading the second letter, I decided against it.”
    “When was this?”
    “Two years ago.”
    “Do you remember anything about the letters?”
    “I still have them.”
             
    Stan went upstairs to change the towels in the guest rooms. He found it odd that in John Miller’s room he saw several of Jo’s books on the desk. He crossed over and immediately noticed that three had a library’s Dewey decimal code and the letter S for “Sutton” taped to each spine. Did he buy them at a library fund-raiser? Maybe. They all looked well read.
    He opened one of them and saw underlined passages. Who on earth marked text in romance novels?
    What did they really know about John Miller? He hailed from L.A. and had made his reservation a week ago, out of the blue. He hadn’t been referred by anyone. He said he needed time to think, which wasn’t surprising to Stan. But he didn’t seem the type to cotton to thinking time. And he had attached himself to Jo readily enough.
    You sent this fellow with Jo.
    Had Stan made a mistake?
    He went through John’s room. There was nothing personal in it except for the clothes he’d worn yesterday. He’d worn Stan’s clothes today, including a snowsuit. The only thing he’d brought with him from his truck were romance novels?
Jo’s
romance novels?
    Stan noticed a piece of paper folded and tucked into one of the books. He picked up the book, extracted the paper and carefully unfolded it. If his fears were unfounded, Stan wanted to be able to put the paper back as it was.
    He stared at a photograph of John Miller. A mug shot, complete with the height marker behind him. It was a fax—and the header read
Beaverhead County Sheriff’s Department, Dillon, Montana.
    Sheriff McBride had faxed over the mug shots of
three
convicts, not two.
    John Miller, aka Aaron Doherty, had stolen his own.
    Stan had to warn Jo.
    She was in the middle of nowhere with a killer.
             
    Jo was pleased with their progress: They made it to the Kimball homestead in just over an hour. They’d been moving at fifteen miles an hour most of the time except for two delays. On their return, they wouldn’t be able to go that fast hauling Ben Ward safely, or with the scouts sitting double on the snowmobiles. She was a little concerned about fuel—the added weight would drain their gasoline much faster, but as long as they rode steady and stayed on the main trail they’d make it. She had a two-gallon backup tank that she could tap into and siphon off if necessary.
    Wyatt stood outside the cabin as Jo approached. “Heard you coming way back.”
    “Snowmobiles aren’t built for stealth.”
    Wyatt glanced at the three men disembarking from the other sleds. Jo explained, “I don’t like the weather right now. I’m thinking we should get you all back to the lodge quickly, rather than letting anyone ski in.”
    Wyatt held up his hand to stop Jo’s explanation. “I spoke with Karl an hour ago. He told me you were coming with help. I should have thought of it myself.”
    Jo said, “I don’t think we’re going to be able to take your equipment. We’re already doubling up some of the kids. Why don’t you figure out how best to distribute everyone? It’ll be slow going, but we’ll all be back safe in less