Free Accomplice by Kristi Lea

immaculately tended, and individual plots
teemed with fresh flowers. Pretty nice given the modest gravestones and the
working class neighborhood in which it sat.
    Noah leaned back against the back of the bench,
absently rubbing his sore shoulder. The whole case was like trying to fit
together a puzzle without knowing what it was supposed to look like.
    Jessica and her late husband used a thinly veiled
charity organization to give away a lot of their money without attaching their
names to the checks. Nothing wrong with that, and wise given that some of the
charities on their lists might not have accepted their money. This little
church cemetery had received regular contributions for several years, though
Noah would be damned if he knew why.
    Who died here? He wished he had access to some of
the FBI databases to cross-check names and dates. Old-fashioned internet
searches hadn't turned up any clues linking the adult model to this part of Asheville,
North Carolina.
    He downed the remainder of his bottle of water and
stood to leave. Face it, man. You drove all this way for nothing.
    He stood and carefully stretched, then began a
leisurely walk back toward the small bed-and-breakfast he had checked into that
morning. He told Cole that he was taking advantage of his medical leave to get
out of the city and recuperate.
    A light-blue older Honda Civic ambled down the
street passed him and turned a block farther down. Noah frowned. That was the
third time this morning that he had noticed that particular car.
    Some local running errands.
    He didn’t know why the small figure across the
street first caught his attention. She was dressed like a college kid—jet black
hair that stuck to her head in sweaty curls above face pink with heat, cutoff
jean shorts, baggy t-shirt that didn’t quite disguise the trim figure
underneath. A backpack that hid the curve of her hips but molded the front of
her t-shirt to her breasts.
    It was the figure.
    It was her figure.
    Excitement and relief poured through him, leaving
his gut in a tangle of nerves. Jessica was safe. She was here. Not out of the
country. Not in rehab. Not rendezvousing with a secret lover.
    Not dead.
    She didn’t look around, just walked with a
determination to her stride that he had never really noticed before. Had he
ever seen her out of stilettos?
    Noah crossed the street at the end of the block
and turned to follow her from a safe distance. She turned onto a street lined
with small craft and antique shops, cafes and florists, built into old wooden
homes. There were a few more people here, window shopping or soaking in the
morning sunshine while they sipped their coffee. He was able to get a little
closer.
    What if it wasn’t Jessica? He hadn’t actually seen
her face yet. The nervous excitement he had been feeling turned to dread. What
if the lady he was following called the cops to report a strange man stalking
her?
    She was headed towards the newer commercial strip
near the highway. If she had a car waiting there, he would lose her again. He
picked up the pace. He had to know.
    The woman disappeared down an alley between a
couple of buildings, and he hesitated to follow. The alley seemed to dump into
another alley that ran between shops on this street and larger, warehouse-style
buildings with few windows on the other.
    The rattle of an air conditioning unit drowned out
the sound of her footsteps. Noah peered around the corner. She was still there,
about a quarter of the way to the street at the far end.
    A car pulled into the alley and Noah pulled back
against the wall in the shadow of a dumpster. The woman’s footsteps slowed and
she put her head down and headed towards the wall to make way.
    The car was blue. Light blue. And it slowed to a
stop as it neared the woman.
     
    ***
     
    Jessica froze as the door of the car opened and a
large man in khakis, a golf shirt, and sunglasses slid out of the driver’s
seat.
    “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,”