Small Town Protector

A handsome FBI agent joining Lana for dinner, taking her by the police station to drop off pancakes, then escorting her home. She didn’t want to think about how that story was going to evolve by lunchtime.

There was no story, just a Federal agent doing his job. And last night he’d made it his job to get Lana home safely, to make sure she did not “encounter any more personal threats.” His words.

During their meal he’d asked if she’d meet with a sketch artist to create an image of the man who’d tried to force his way onto the tour boat last night. Lana was pretty sure the guy was a pushy businessman used to getting his way. She’d encountered a few of those since she’d started Delightful Tours.

But she’d rarely encountered men like Agent Drake, sophisticated and imposing in his crisp dark suit, with intimidating eyes that challenged her whenever he glanced in her direction. He did the whole “brooding male” thing exceptionally well. Probably came with the job description.

Yet last night, after Lana talked a teenager out of stabbing her, the agent offered Lana a compassionate shoulder. He’d even teased her a few times. An image of his slight smile drifted across her thoughts… .

She imagined sitting at the Turnstyle across the table from him, sharing a plate of pancakes, only this time he wore a knit shirt and jeans. His hair wasn’t perfectly combed, rather it was mussed in front, and he had a sparkle in his eye… .

Pounding made her jackknife in bed. Heart racing, she scanned her bedroom and realized she’d fallen into a deep sleep. She glanced at the clock. It read 7:14.

Persistent knocking echoed through her apartment. Someone was trying to wake her up.

She slipped on her robe, fastened it in front and hesitated at the front door. She checked the peephole and spotted Agent Drake hovering in her hallway. She stepped back. He knocked again. With a quick breath she opened the door.

“Good morning,” she said, surprised to see him at her place so early.

“It’s not too early, is it? I was able to get a sketch artist. He’ll be here in half an hour.” He cast a quick glance at her robe, then averted his eyes. “Sorry. Chief Wright said you’re always up by seven.”

“I usually am. Do you want to come in?”

“No, I’ll wait by the car. I have to make some calls.”

“Oh, okay. Give me twenty minutes.”

“Take your time.” He turned and went down the stairs.

“Hey, wait a second, isn’t that the same suit you had on last night?”

He turned. “I was hoping you wouldn’t notice.”

“You mean you were up all night?”

“I’ll be in the car.”

“I’ll bring coffee.”

“Great, thanks.”

She shut her door and rushed into the kitchen to put the coffee on. Talk about a man dedicated to his job. He hadn’t slept? He was up all night? Doing what? You couldn’t interview potential witnesses at three in the morning.

Whatever the reason, she felt safer knowing how determined he was to find whoever killed the man who’d washed up on Salish Island.

* * *

Lana showered and was dressed in fifteen minutes. She filled two travel mugs with coffee and pulled a couple of Mom’s cranberry-nut scones from the freezer and defrosted them in the microwave. She bagged them, grabbed her purse and coffees and headed out.

When she opened the apartment building door, she spotted the agent’s car across the street in the exact spot he’d parked it last night when he’d accompanied her upstairs.

Wait a sec, he couldn’t have stayed there all night, could he? Watching her? He was taking a swig from a blue, reusable water bottle when she crossed the street and handed him a coffee. “This will wake you up faster than water.”

“Thanks.” He opened the car door and put it in the cup holder.

“Don’t tell me you slept in your car last night.”

“Okay, I won’t.” He went around the front of the sedan and opened the door for her.

“If you weren’t a federal agent, I would be seriously creeped out.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m a federal agent.” He shut her door.

He was worried about her, his potential witness. Garrett probably figured Lana was his best lead on this case. As she shifted the bag of scones onto the console between them, she reminded herself his interest in her was strictly professional.

He got into the car and she motioned toward the bag. “I brought scones for breakfast.”

“When did you have time to bake scones?”

She smiled. “I baked them in my sleep.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“They’re my mom’s. She’s always trying to outbake her friend Caroline, who owns the Port Whisper Inn.”

His grip on the steering wheel tightened as he pulled away from the curb. “Thanks, I’ll have mine when we get to the P.D.”

“You didn’t really sit outside my apartment all night, did you?”

“Not all night.”

No, Garrett stopped by his former mother-in-law’s place early this morning, hoping to get the awkward encounter over with. No one answered when he knocked, which seemed odd since she ran an inn out of her home. Maybe she didn’t have any guests.

More likely she saw him from an upstairs window and chose not to open her door. He couldn’t blame her. There was too much history there, too much pain.

“You okay?” Lana asked.

“Yep.”

He’d be better once she gave a description to the sketch artist and Garrett could get traction on this case.

“I may not study people for a living, but I’m going to make an educated guess that you’re really not okay,” she said.

“I’m tracking a serial killer.”

“No, it’s something else.”

How on earth was this woman able to read him so easily? Not good. Garrett prided himself on being able to keep the ugly corners of his mind private, hidden, even from his own team.

“I’m tired. Didn’t get much sleep,” he said.

“I’m sorry.”

He cast her a sideways glance. “It’s not your fault.”

“You were sleeping in your car because of me.”

“Partly, and partly because I didn’t have time to get a room. So, how about loading up a scone on a napkin for me?” he said to divert her.

Truth was, he shouldn’t have slept outside her place, but something was nagging at him. And not just her captivating golden-green eyes.

She reached into the bag and grabbed a scone with a pale blue napkin. When she handed it to him, his fingers brushed against her soft and delicate hand. He snapped up the scone and took a bite.

“You know where to turn?” she said.

He swallowed. “Yep.”

“Is it too dry?”

“What?” He turned onto Third Street.

“The scone?”

“It’s perfect.”

Like the woman sitting next to him. Whoa, he was suffering from a serious case of sleep deprivation. Regardless that she seemed pretty perfect—strong, confident and beautiful—Garrett wasn’t in the market, not now, nor in the foreseeable future. Not as long as he worked for the BAU.

She pulled out a scone for herself. As they drove through town, he realized they must look like a couple eating in companionable silence on their way to work. He placed his scone on the console and sipped his coffee.

“How long do you think the meeting with the sketch artist will take?” she asked.

“Depends on you, I guess. Why?”

“I’m supposed to take a tour group out to the island.”

“I’m sorry, but you’ll have to cancel your tours for a few days. It’s still a crime scene.”

“Oh, right. I’d better notify my customers.” She pulled out her phone.

Was the killer scheduled to be on Lana’s tour boat today? No, now Garrett was completely drifting off course. Red Hollow was about kidnapping, demanding ransom and killing very specific victims: aggressive, domineering men. He didn’t randomly choose victims so there was no reason for Lana to be in personal danger.

Unless Red Hollow considered her a threat.

Garrett pulled into the police parking lot and spotted a familiar car. Georgia must have brought the sketch artist. Garrett hoped she left the rest of the team back in Tacoma to work the case. There was no reason to relocate to Port Whisper until they knew for sure they were dealing with Red Hollow.

As they approached the door, a teenage girl with flushed cheeks raced up to them. “Lana! He’s gone. I’ve been texting all night, and he hasn’t answered and—”

“Shhh, calm down, Ashley.” She motioned to Garrett. “This is Agent Drake.”

“Hi,” Ashley croaked, turning her attention back to Lana. “Sketch is missing and I’m afraid he did something stupid, like try to find out who killed that guy and—”

“Hold on, take a deep breath.” Lana placed her hands on Ashley’s shoulders and they both took a deep breath together, then another. “Okay, start from when you guys got home last night.”

“We went to Sketch’s house and my parents came over and talked with his gran about the dead guy. My dad said he heard that an FBI Agent named Drake was at the scene, and everyone started freaking out that the killer is local and his gran was really upset and Sketch said not to worry, that he’d protect her, and she, like, flipped out and ran upstairs. We left, but Sketch texted me later and said he was going to find the killer.”

“How was he going to do that?” Garrett asked.

“I don’t know. Go back to the scene? Check out security footage?”

“How could he get access to security footage?”

“He’s a computer genius,” Lana offered. “He can find anything, anywhere, online.”

“In other words, he’s a hacker,” Garrett said.

“He’s helped the local police with cases,” Lana argued. “You can ask Morgan.”

Great, what Garrett didn’t need was a complication in the form of a meddling teenager. “I’m sorry, Ashley, but Lana needs to meet with a sketch artist for the murder case. She’ll have to help you find your friend when she’s done.”

Lana squeezed the girl’s hands. “Did you call his grandmother?”

“No one’s answering.”

“She goes for her morning walk around this time. Try her in half an hour, okay?”

The girl nodded, but still looked shaken.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Lana said. “He probably fell asleep at the pier and that’s why he isn’t returning your texts. He’s done that before, right?”

“I guess.”

“Would you feel better if we said a quick prayer?”

The teen nodded.

Lana held Ashley’s hands and closed her eyes. Garrett automatically took a step back, afraid he’d somehow ruin the divine moment.

“Dear Lord, please keep watch over our friend, Sketch,” Lana started. “He’s a brave young man who deeply loves his family and wants to protect them. Help him avert danger and find his way back home to us. Amen.”

Lana opened her eyes and shot Ashley a smile that warmed even Garrett’s numb heart. “Keep the faith, sweetie. He’ll be okay.”

Ashley nodded and seemed to have calmed down. Too bad Garrett couldn’t feel that kind of inner peace from a prayer. He escorted Lana into the police station and was greeted by Georgia and Chief Wright.

“Georgia, thanks for bringing the sketch artist,” Garrett said.

“I figured we had to move fast.” She eyed Lana. “Is this the witness?”

“Yes. Lana Burns, this is Agent Hunt,” Garrett introduced.

“Nice to meet you,” Lana said, then gave the chief a hug. “Hey, Morgan.”

Georgia leaned toward Garrett. “Friendly town.”

“He’s married to her sister.”

“Ah. People still do that, huh? Get married?” Georgia teased.

“That’s what I hear.”

But not Garrett, or Georgia, or anyone else in their line of work.

“Why don’t you two sit over here?” Chief Wright led Lana and the forensic artist to a quiet corner.

“What do you want to do while she’s working with him?” Georgia asked.

“Why don’t you interview other passengers from last night’s cruise? I’m going to stay with Lana.”

“Lana?” Georgia raised an eyebrow at his use of her first name.

“That’s her name,” he shot back.

Georgia’s expression faded. She was being coy, but Garrett wasn’t in the mood for anything but finding a killer and getting out of town.

“I texted you contact information for tourists this morning.”

“Yep, got it.”

“It’s nearly eight. Shouldn’t be too early to question them.”

“What about forensics?”

“They’ll call when they have something.”

“I’ll check in later, then.”

Garrett sensed she wanted to catch his eye, but he was focused on Lana. A part of him hoped she’d seen the killer; another part prayed she didn’t because it would make her a target.

Prayed? Really, Garrett? You have no right to pray.

Garrett spent the next hour checking leads through emails and phone calls. Everything led to dead ends.

“Wow, that’s really good,” Lana said from across the room.

The sketch artist flipped the pad around so Garrett could see it. “I’ll send this—”

The door swung open and a frantic woman rushed into the station. Not just any woman—Garrett’s former mother-in-law, Caroline Ross. She rushed up to the chief, so upset she didn’t even notice Garrett.

“Morgan, I can’t find Sketch. He didn’t come home last night and Ashley said he stopped texting around two, and she said he was going to—”

She spotted Garrett and froze. An eerie silence blanketed the room.

Garrett stood. “Hello, Caroline.”

Her eyes welled with tears. “I can’t talk to you right now.” She motioned the chief outside.

“What was that about?” the sketch artist asked.

“She’s upset because her grandson is missing,” Lana offered.

“Her…grandson?” Garrett’s heartbeat sped up. The room seemed to tip sideways.

“Yeah, Sketch is her grandson,” Lana said.

It was the same nightmare that haunted his dreams for more than ten years, even after the serial killer was dead.

Only, this nightmare was real: his son was missing. Taken? Brutalized?

“You mean…Steven?” Garrett said, gripping the back of an office chair.

“How did you know his name?” Lana asked.

“Because he’s my son.”

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