up and down the length of her room, frustration bubbling inside her.
She couldn’t just sit here and wait for the men from the sheriff’s department to take over the estate. If she wanted to do something constructive without anyone tracking her movements, it had better be soon.
Exchanging her tennis shoes for hiking boots, she stuffed her gun inside her knapsack. She was about to leave her room when she stopped. Going back to her luggage, she took out a bulletproof vest and put it on. It looked totally weird under her shirt, so she pulled out the leather jacket that she hadn’t needed since she’d arrived.
With the protection in place, she headed for the back stairs.
Janet was standing at the counter, kneading bread. Morgan stopped. Making bread was such a strange thing to be doing at a time like this that Morgan found herself staring at the woman, trying to figure out if she’d lost her mind.
Janet lifted her head so that Morgan could see the desperation on her face. And suddenly she understood better.
“I guess that helps calm you,” she said.
“Yes,” Janet answered grimly. “I love to cook. When anything worries me, I come into the kitchen and start pounding dough and beating batter.”
She peered at Morgan. “Child, what are you wearing?”
“I was feeling cold,” Morgan answered. “And I’m not so calm either. So, I’m going out to have a look around before the boys in blue get here.”
“Is that safe?”
“I don’t know. But I can’t just sit inside.” She hesitated for a moment. “If I’m not back in an hour, call my office.” Walking across the kitchen, she wrote the Decorah number on the pad of paper beside the phone.
“You should stay in. You’ll broil in that outfit.”
“I have to go out.” Turning, she cleared her throat. “Do we have a large hunk of meat I could take with me?” she asked.
Janet’s eyebrows lifted, “Why?”
“I need it for bait.”
Janet gave her a long look. “I guess I have to assume you haven’t gone off the deep end of the dock.”
“I hope not.”
The housekeeper nodded. “I was planning to have a roast for dinner. I’m certainly not going to serve it to those deputies—if they’re hanging around.”
“I believe I can put it to better use.” Morgan took the meat from the refrigerator, relieved that the housekeeper wasn’t asking more pointed questions. Sliding the roast into a plastic grocery bag, she stuffed the whole thing into her knapsack, then stepped into the humid afternoon. Her first stop was the potting shed, where she snatched up the long pruning pole designed for snipping off tree branches that were too high to reach from the ground.
Then she lifted a heavy bolt cutter off its hook. If the deputies were on the property when she got back, she might have to leave the cutters in the swamp. And that would probably make Andre angry when he came back.
When he came back. A sob snuck up on her, and she struggled to keep it locked behind her lips as she hurried out of the shed and closed the door behind her.
With her equipment in tow, she made for the swampy area beyond the lawn, heading toward the small river that had stopped her progress into the swamp the first day she’d explored the estate.
She stepped into the shadows under the trees, feeling the temperature of the humid air dropping several degrees as she walked into the shade. She’d intended to go directly to the island, instead she hesitated for a moment, then detoured in the direction of the road. When she was well into the tangle of underbrush, she called out softly, “Andre? Are you there? Andre?”
She held her breath, listening for an answer—or for the sound of leaves crackling. But the swamp was silent except for the sound of insects buzzing.
“Why did you run?” she asked.
Again, only the insects answered.
“It must have been for a good reason—otherwise you wouldn’t have taken the chance,” she said, hoping she could convince him that she was on his side.
Nobody replied. She might have been talking to herself, and she wanted to scream in frustration. Frank was right; she had become emotionally involved in a very short period of time. After two years of feeling dead—she was finally alive again.
“Don’t you trust me?” she demanded, her temper rising. Then she told herself that getting mad at him wasn’t going to do either one of them any good. And really, he could be miles from here and totally