It was just after one when she pulled out of the garage and shut the door behind her. Determined to think about something else, she turned on the radio and hunted for a station that had music. She finally found one that was playing oldies from the ’50s and ’60s.
Great. She felt about a hundred. It would be perfect.
She would be in the right area in just over an hour. It might take her a while to wind around the country roads and find the cottage. Hopefully her GPS would behave nicely.
“Are you excited?” she asked Duke.
He barked just once.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” she said, settling back. She wasn’t worried about falling asleep while driving. Her body was practically humming with energy. She would not have been able to sleep.
She’d lost a good friend tonight.
Had Milo simply been a convenient target? Was it possible that a vagrant had been hiding in the alley, and when Milo had opened the door, the attack had been a spur-of-the-moment decision? Or was it something much more sinister? Had someone been waiting for Milo, someone from his past?
She prayed that Chase Hollister would find the answer. She wanted Milo’s attacker to pay for what he’d done. It wouldn’t bring Milo back but it would help to know that a killer had not gone free.
She pressed down on the accelerator, fully aware that she couldn’t outrun the image of Milo’s dead body on the dirty cement. She could not forget about what had happened. No. That was asking too much.
But she could drive, and then tomorrow, when she woke up in her little cottage, she would make coffee and take it down to the lake and dangle her feet in the cool water.
And she would come to terms with another senseless death.
She would have to.
Sometimes the only thing one could do was keep going.
* * *
RAFE GOT OFF the damn hill as fast as he could and ran the mile to where he’d hidden his car. Once inside, he sent a quick text to others on his team, letting them know about the arrival of the youngest Maladucci.
He looked at his watch, mindful of the seven-hour time difference between Italy and home. It was almost nine, which meant it was almost two in the morning at home. Time for most people to be sacked out.
But Daniel, who had sent this message, would be awake. He would anticipate that a return message was on its way. He picked up his private cell phone. Trish? he typed and pushed Send.
Within minutes he had his response. Left café around midnight, arrived home safely.
He took a deep breath. Then another. That was good news. But he was edgy. Had been for the past twenty-four hours. Nothing unusual about that. Always the same, year after year.
Maybe someone was walking over his grave.
Hell, he’d walked over his own grave. Less than a month after Trish had the service, he’d been back in Ravesville, with Duke in tow. Just weeks before he’d died, he’d purchased the dog and arranged for it to be specially trained. From the beginning had called it Duke because Trish had always said that if she ever got a dog, Duke would be his name. His plan had been to surprise Trish on their one-year anniversary. When he’d had to leave, he’d expedited the training and delivered the dog to Trish’s backyard two months earlier than expected.
But Duke had been a champ and Rafe had rested better knowing that the dog would protect Trish. Not that Trish should have been in danger still. That should have ended when Rafe left. But he couldn’t stop being extra careful. Trish was too special.
So she’d been home for more than an hour. She would be sleeping. There was no need to request an updated report. No need at all.
Screw it. He typed. Reverify. And waited.
Thirteen minutes later, he knew something was terribly wrong when his phone rang. “Yeah,” he answered.
“She’s gone,” Daniel said.
He gripped his phone and swallowed hard. “Signs of violence?”
“None. Dog is gone, too.”
Milo was dead and Trish and Duke were missing. He stared up at the sun that was bright in the blue sky. It was going to be a nice day.
Not that it mattered. He had things to do.
* * *
IT WAS ALMOST two thirty before Trish pulled up in front of the cottage. There was a narrow half-gravel, half-grass road leading to the small wood structure. She knew the details from M.A. One bedroom, one bath, a kitchen and a big screened-in porch that had a great view of the water. It had sounded perfect, and now that she was here, even though it was too dark to see much of anything, she realized that she’d been right.
Unless, of course, there were mice inside. Even with her gun, she was no match for rodents. “Duke, you’re going to need to protect me.”
He nudged her shoulder with his wet nose. I’ve got your back, it seemed to say.
There was a small light burning next to the cottage door, but even as she walked the short distance from the car, she became aware of how dark the Missouri wilderness could be. Based on what M.A. had told her, the nearest cottage was a half mile away. It didn’t help when Duke decided that he needed a potty break and he took his time sniffing for just the right area.
Her heart started to beat a little faster in her chest and she was glad when the dog finally finished. When it came time to enter the combination on the lock that hung over the door handle, she had to enter it twice before she got it right. The door swung open. Duke pushed in front of her and she made no effort to hold him back. She reached inside, hoping to feel for a light switch.
It was six inches farther away from the door than she’d expected. But once she found it and flipped the light on, she felt much better. It really was just perfect. The main part of the cottage had a small living area with just a couch and a bookshelf. There was no television. It led into the kitchen, where there was a big braided rug under the table. There was a stove, refrigerator and sink.
There was no door on what she suspected was the bedroom. She walked over and found the light. It had a double bed, a small table with a lamp and a dresser. The only other room in the main portion of the cottage was a small bathroom that was off the kitchen. It was old but clean with a bath/shower combination, a toilet and a vanity.
It was the porch that really interested her. It ran the entire length of the cottage, with windows and a back door making up one whole side. It was the size of all three of the other rooms put together. The shades on the windows and door were down, which made sense. She knew that she wouldn’t be able to see anything right now anyway, but she was confident that in the morning, it was going to be dazzlingly beautiful. M.A. had told her the back door opened to steps that led to a long dock where the owner kept a boat for the renters to use. Then there was water for as far as you could see.
On the porch was a small, round slate table, the size where four could squeeze in to have breakfast, with four wrought-iron chairs with padded seats. Also a forest green sofa, a couple of overstuffed chairs, and a big wooden coffee table, the kind with drawers underneath. It had rained a couple of days when M.A. had been here and she’d said the board games and cards that she’d found in the coffee table had been a lifesaver.
Trish unpacked her sack, putting the few groceries away in the cupboard. She pulled out Duke’s water and food dishes and filled both. He immediately started eating.
It probably wasn’t a bad idea. She’d had nothing since lunch, more than twelve hours earlier. She made herself a peanut butter and banana sandwich and poured a glass of water from the faucet. There was a roll of paper towels in a holder next to the sink. She pulled one off and wrapped it around her sandwich. Then she went onto the porch, sat on the sofa and ate.
It had been the right decision