Free A Deadly Reunion by Odette C. Bell Page A

every inch of the room,
searching for every clue he could or just snooping through my
personal stuff. And no doubt he had a ton of questions to ask
me.
    Fortunately, he didn’t face me with a
barrage as I padded softly across the cheap carpet and came to a
stop about a meter before him. I stared at him wordlessly for
almost half a minute before he stood up and nodded towards the
front door. “Don’t worry,” he said simply.
    I had one trillion trite and sarcastic
responses to that, but I was hardly in a trite and sarcastic mood.
If Denver was right, then it was highly likely someone had just
threatened to kill me. If I didn’t act sensibly and get myself to a
safe place soon, I would be the next dead body in the rose
bushes.
    As that cold and dreadful thought settled in
like a blizzard from above, I gave a violent shudder.
    Denver walked over to my suitcase, opened it
up, rummaged around inside, and pulled out a jacket.
    He didn’t ask me whether he could look
through my stuff, and neither did he politely inquire as to whether
I was actually cold. He just handed me the jacket and nodded at me
to put it on.
    He really was a jerk, I concluded with a
small huff. Yet as strange as it sounded, I wouldn’t have anyone
else by my side right now. Even though I’d barely known him for two
days, he seemed like a dependable kind of jerk, and at least that
was something.
    He led me out of my motel room, securing the
postcard carefully with two fingers as he walked out over the porch
and towards his car.
    I faltered behind him. “Why are we going in
your car?
    “Because I’m driving.”
    “Why are you driving?”
    He stopped and turned slowly. “Stop with all
the questions. Get in the car, and we’ll go to the police
station.”
    Stop with all the questions? Seriously, had
he just said that?
    Though I wanted to close the distance
between us and rap him on the top of the head with my knuckles, I
restrained myself. Instead, I silently got into the passenger side
of his rather humble vehicle and wordlessly put my belt on. And
there I sat with my ankles locked and my handbag on my lap, my
white-knuckled grip holding it tight against my belly. I didn’t
think Denver was going to steal the bag or anything; I just needed
something to hold onto right now.
    I had a very steady and dependable life.
While I didn’t have a long-term man in it right now, I was working
on that. Plus, I was happy being single, for the time being
anyway.
    Yet right now, all that happiness and
steadiness had been thrown out the window.
    Someone had made a threat against my life,
and I was in an FBI Agent’s car about to be taken to East Lake
Police Station.
    As Thorne had already confirmed this
morning, the police of this district weren’t used to dealing with
actual crimes. Lost tourists? Yes. The occasional emergency when a
fire broke out in the mountains? Of course. But corpses in the rose
bushes and threats on your toilet cistern? Hell no.
    If they weren’t used to dealing with serious
crime, how quick would their response be and how efficient? Would I
be whisked away somewhere safe? Would they get me out of town?
Would they hunt down the murderer with practiced efficiency? Would
they solve this all in the blink of an eye before anyone else could
get hurt?
    As I sat there listening to the tires crunch
over the gravel, my grip around my bag became tighter and tighter.
My fingers pushed hard into the leather, bending my nails back and
threatening to break them.
    I didn’t care though.
    My thoughts were getting the better of
me.
    I would have to change my whole life,
wouldn’t I? If there were somebody out there who wanted to kill me
– and the police of this district weren’t quick enough to catch
them – I would always have a shadow hanging over my shoulder.
    No more staying out late at bars, no more
peaceful walks alone in the forest – I would be in a constant and
perpetual state of paranoia.
    I suddenly jerked up my hand, stuck my thumb
into