Free Hostage by Kay Hooper Page A

generally admitted to taking a shortcut across posted land, their mistake and one they won’t make again. No harm, no foul.”
    Getting the gist, Luther said, “So your sheriff isn’t one to get all stirred up over minor issues.”
    “Something like that. Usually has his feet up on his desk doing the crossword. He’s eyeing retirement.”
    “I see.” Luther frowned as the question nagging at him finally settled within reach. “Wait.
You
knew the man in that cabin was Cole Jacoby.”
    “Yeah.”
    “You weren’t surprised when I said he was a wanted fugitive.”
    She smiled faintly and waited.
    “But you said all anybody in town knew was that someone rented the cabin for an unnamed friend.”
    “That’s right.”
    “So how did you know the man in that cabin is Cole Jacoby?”
    “Well, I saw him. Unlike my neighbors up here and down in town, I like to know who’s around me. Especially when I recognize him from newspaper and TV reports as a wanted fugitive.”
    “But you didn’t tell the sheriff?”
    “Like my neighbors up here and down in town, I try to mind my own business. He hadn’t come near me or caused me any trouble.”
    Luther was still aware of the nagging feeling of too many unanswered questions but couldn’t seem to focus on what he thought he should have been asking her.
    Callie waited a moment, then nodded. “The news reports I saw in town had Jacoby on the loose hardly more than a week or two ago; the Scotts . . . let it be known they rented out the cabin a couple of months back. To a stranger with good references who said his name was Jones. He paid in cash, six months’ rent. Said his friend might not get up to the cabin for a few weeks, but not to send a cleaning crew, he’d take the cabin as is.”
    “And nothing in all that made them suspicious?”
    Still almost preternaturally calm, she replied, “Not that they said. Hasn’t really been a good tourist season, so the money, as I said, would have been welcome.”
    He brooded, then said, “Was it just the news reports that made you sure it’s Cole Jacoby in that cabin?”
    “I also encountered one of his dogs, when Cesar and I were hiking the other day. Friendly dog. Greeted us politely and then headed with a purpose toward the Scotts’ cabin. The tags had Jacoby’s name listed as owner. And a phone number. Looked like a landline.”
    “Up here?”
    “No. Prefix isn’t one used for this area. My guess, if he expected to be on the run or at least moving from place to place, is that he arranged with a veterinary clinic to be the contact if the dog—any of his dogs—went missing and turned up somewhere. There was a rabies tag, current. Virginia.”
    “You wouldn’t happen to remember the phone number on the owner tag?”
    “I remember. Prefix is Arlington.”
    “Close enough,” Luther muttered, half under his breath. He frowned at Callie. “And you recognized Jacoby’s name. As a wanted fugitive.”
    “Yeah.”
    “And didn’t think to tell the sheriff.”
    “Well, he’s eyeing retirement. Probably deserves to get there. And it’s not like Jacoby is a serial killer. Just a bank robber, right? A bank robber who never hurt anyone? Except you, of course.”
    “Yeah. But I was sent to find him. I should probably call and report that I did.”
    “It’ll have to wait. No landline. No cell service up here. And you’re in no shape to get down to town.”
    “Right,” he said finally, slowly. Something was still nagging at him, but he couldn’t seem to get hold of it. All Luther could really do at the moment was to acknowledge to himself that he needed to eat, possibly sleep again, and consider the puzzle that surrounded Cole Jacoby when his mind was considerably more clear.
    And the puzzle that was Callie Davis as well.
    He really hoped they would both make a lot more sense once he was more rested and clearheaded.
    “I’ll get the stew,” Callie said, setting her coffee cup on the table and moving into the