to do my very best to find justice for the two victims. Or at least, answers.” He paused, studying her in that way that made her feel slightly itchy. “If you agree to help, you’ll need to keep any information quiet. Like I said, I’ll need your help canvassing some of the area, and I may have a question or two pertaining to the case, and so you’ll be privy to things I’d prefer aren’t discussed openly.”
Harper nodded. “Of course. I understand. I’m a vault.”
Agent Gallagher chuckled. “Okay, good. Then what do you say?”
What do you say? Why did she have this feeling in her gut that getting involved—even as a glorified chauffer—was going to matter in some way she couldn’t possibly know right then? The picture of the man with the fiery eyes sitting one room over flashed in her mind, as did the terrain she’d be driving this stranger in front of her into. This man who seemed capable, yes, but was used to sunny skies and sandy beaches, not frigid canyons and frozen rivers.
She wasn’t out there as much herself during the cold season. For one, there were fewer clients who wanted to venture into the wild tundra to freeze their asses off, and two, it would be foolish to carry on her personal search during the snowy months when what she was looking for would be piled under a mound of icy white. She paused for another brief second, resolve filling her. “I’ll do it.”
Agent Gallagher’s lips tipped. “Great. Can you start now? I need to get out to that second crime scene, Harper. If I may call you Harper?”
“Yes, of course.”
“I need to take a few minutes to ask the man in the next room some questions. I’ll be quick. I imagine he’s ready to get home.”
She nodded, and Agent Gallagher left the room, headed toward the “wild man.” No, Lucas. His name is Lucas. And his home is in the middle of nowhere.
CHAPTER SIX
Unhappy smells. Old sweat, tears, fear. The stink of human urine. And over that, something sharp and strong that Lucas could not name. Unnatural.
He hadn’t been paying enough attention, his thoughts flying like the whipping snowflakes all around him. And then there had been the truck where a truck had never been before. The big machine that roared and rumbled and left deep tracks in the snow. But he hadn’t run. Hadn’t fought. Because he’d wanted to see the man who drove it. Up close. Wanted to know if he might be a friend, or if he was an enemy.
Were there really still enemies? Or had Driscoll been the only enemy? He still didn’t know. He was trying to figure it out.
The man in the truck had steered off the road when he saw Lucas and then taken out his gun and pointed it at him. His hand had been shaking and Lucas had smelled his fear, knew he could overtake the man, steal his gun if he wanted, but he didn’t. The man had asked him to come in to town and answer questions. Lucas didn’t want to answer any of his questions. He could have darted away like a fox. Too quick to catch. But he had needed to know more about what was out there.
So he’d let the man drive him into town and the man had put him here, in the cell that unhappy people had sat in before him. Sweating. Crying. Peeing on the floor? Why? He couldn’t make sense of that. Even animals peed far away from where they slept.
Driscoll had talked about a cell. With bars. A cage. This must be what he meant. But the men who told him to sit there had also said he could go home after they asked him questions. But maybe they were lying.
He looked at the camera in the corner. He knew what a camera was. The redheaded woman had told him what to look for, and he’d remembered. Remembered from the long-ago world, the one he’d lived in. Before. The life where there had been cameras and cars, and food in cans, and boxes, even bottles of sweet orange-colored drinks with little bubbles that’d popped on his tongue.
Some of it he could remember the names for, some of it he could not. The tastes though . . . the tastes had already left his memory.
He looked up and a red light on the camera flashed. On. Off. On. Off. Like the slow blink of a red-eyed