“This man’s an electrician and he’s retired, which means he has an independent income and can travel. Plus, he has reason to hate you.”

“Yeah, add it all up and George Dodd is looking more and more like our prime suspect.”

Seven

They easily located the address Alan had given them. The walkway leading from the street to the front door of the 1940s bungalow was lined with neglected flower beds.

“It doesn’t seem like anyone’s home,” Chloe said, surveying the ragged grass and yellowing newspapers lying on the doorstep.

“Not for some time,” Jake agreed. He knocked on the door, then knocked again, harder. There was only silence. “Let’s try around the back.”

They followed the sidewalk that curved around the house to the rear. Despite the overgrown flower beds, it was apparent that the house itself had been well-cared-for by its owner.

Jake pounded on the back door. No response. He turned in a slow circle, scanning the backyard. A high wooden fence blocked the neighbors’ view, while the house concealed them from any passerby on the street or sidewalk.

He bent and slipped a knife from inside his boot.

Chloe almost gasped. The blade was long and wickedly lethal. “What are you going to do with that?”

“Unlock the door.” He nodded toward the walkway at the side of the house. “Keep watch, will you? Some neighbor might start wondering why a strange car is parked out front.”

Chloe left the doorstep and peered around the corner of the house. The lawn, sidewalk and the street beyond were quiet in the warm sunshine.

“Ah, got it.”

She looked over her shoulder. Jake pushed open the door, pausing to slip the knife back into the hidden sheath in his boot top. He beckoned and she left her post to rejoin him.

They stepped into the silent kitchen, closing the door. The room was spotlessly clean, the tiled floor gleaming, the counters and white cabinets immaculate.

“I’ve never been in a man’s house this clean,” Chloe whispered.

“Yeah, it’s practically sterile.”

Jake walked out of the kitchen, with Chloe behind him. The small dining area was as pristine and neat as the kitchen. They passed through it, skirting the square maple table with four chairs aligned precisely opposite each other, and entered the living room. The furnishings were neither expensive nor new, and the sofa, with its matching upholstered chair, had wear marks on the arms, but all was tidy and clean.

“I don’t see evidence of anything other than that George Dodd is amazingly neat.” She moved down the hall and looked into the bathroom, the door open wide. “And even though that’s unusual for a man living alone, it doesn’t prove he’s our crazy stalker.”

“No.” Jake’s voice came from farther down the hall. “It doesn’t. But I’ve got a feeling about Dodd.” He opened and closed doors, glancing briefly into rooms, before joining Chloe again. “Let’s get out of here. It’s clear no one’s been here for some time, and if Dodd is our man, then he’s somewhere in Seattle.”

They retraced their steps through the living room, dining room and into the kitchen.

“Wait.” Chloe stopped him just before he opened the door leading to the backyard. A phone was mounted on the wall next to the refrigerator. The top corner of the fridge door held a narrow pad of paper with a magnetized back. A pencil stub was attached to the pad by a neatly knotted length of fishing line.

“What is it?”

“Shouldn’t we check the message pad? I’ve read hundreds of mystery novels, and the amateur detectives always check the blank pad for pencil impressions.”

“Couldn’t hurt. Go for it.” Jake half grinned, waiting patiently while Chloe went to stare at the pad.

She squinted at it, frowning. “I think he might actually have written something on the pad, then torn off the paper. There seem to be words….” She took the dangling pencil stub and carefully rubbed the lead over the paper.

Jake bent closer to read the shaded letters. “Sunshine Real? No, Sunshine Realty. And the rest is a phone number—with Seattle’s area code.”

Chloe dropped the pencil and ripped off the sheet. “The phone number for a Realtor in Seattle? Maybe he used them to find an apartment or a house to rent?”

“I’m betting you’re right.” He took the paper, folded it and tucked it into his shirt pocket. “Smart lady.”

They left the house, locking the door behind them. Jake called Gray as soon as they were in the car and on their way out of town.

“Gray? It’s Jake.” He turned onto the highway and headed north. “Granstrom didn’t pan out, but he gave us some valuable information. Kenny Dodd’s father still lives in Mason City. Granstrom says Dodd blames me for Kenny’s death and he left town about eight weeks ago, right after receiving the military incident report.”

Chloe listened to Jake’s half of the conversation.

“Hold on a sec.” He lowered the phone to hold it and the steering wheel in one hand while he fished the slip of paper out of his pocket with the other. “He left the phone number of a Seattle realty office on the pad in his kitchen. Want to check it out?” He read off the number, then glanced at Chloe and the corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile. “No. He tore off the note, but Chloe saw the impression his pencil made on the pad beneath.”

His smile disappeared. “Yeah, do that.” He looked at his dashboard clock. “We should be back in town by eight or so—too late to do anything tonight. Right, see you tomorrow.” Gray apparently had another question. Jake responded. “No, she’s staying with me until we figure this out. Right.”

He rang off, put down the phone and slipped the folded paper back into his pocket.

“You told Gray I’m staying with you?”

“Yes.” He met her gaze briefly, then looked again at the empty highway stretching ahead of them. “Gut instinct tells me there’s more to this than we know. And I always listen to my gut.”

Chloe was silent for a moment, considering. “I have to admit I’m more than a little leery about Mr. Dodd myself. So I’ll accept your offer to be my bodyguard until we find him.” His mouth curved in a swift smile, filled with more than a little satisfaction. “But if you’re offering to guard me just to get me up to your apartment alone…” She paused.

Jake sent her a questioning glance.

“You didn’t need to go to these lengths,” she said softly. “All you had to do was ask me up to see your etchings. I would’ve said yes.”

His eyes heated. “I’ll remember that.”

“Please do.”

“I love a woman who knows her own mind.” He reached across the console and took her hand from her lap, raised it to his mouth and pressed a hot, openmouthed kiss into her palm. Then he laid her hand, palm down, on his thigh.

Chloe shivered, fully aware that she’d taken an irrevocable step. Anticipation pulsed through her veins, heated by the flex of powerful muscles beneath her hand as he shifted gears. She settled back and watched the scenery flash by.

It was after 9:00 p.m. when they arrived in Seattle and turned into the alleyway behind Jake’s building. He triggered a remote control. Ahead of them, a garage door set into the brick wall of the warehouse began to rise. Once they’d driven inside, the headlights swept over the cavernous interior. The door rumbled smoothly down behind them, shutting out the night.

Chloe had a quick impression of space and high ceilings before Jake switched off the engine and headlights, throwing the area into blackness. The Porsche’s dome light came on when Jake pushed open the door; Chloe got out, too, quickly surveying the surrounding space. Then the big room went dark again. The only illumination came from a glowing yellow bulb mounted over a door at their far right.

“Hey, Jake.”

“Max.” Jake caught Chloe’s hand and drew her with him toward the doorway. “Any problems?”

“None. If anything, it’s too quiet.” A man stepped out of the shadows, an assault weapon cradled in his arms.

“Let’s hope it stays like that.”

Max nodded and turned away. Chloe noticed light eyes in a handsome face and dark hair tied back at his nape before he disappeared into the shadows.

“Who was that?” she whispered to Jake as they went through the doorway and climbed a set of stairs.

“Max Luken. He works for me.” He unlocked a door at the top of the stairway, pushed it inward and waited for Chloe to enter.

Moonlight poured through skylights, throwing cool light and dark shadows over the apartment.

Jake’s hands closed over her shoulders and he brushed his mouth against the side of her throat. Chloe turned in his embrace, sliding her arms around his neck.

He pinned her against the wall with his body and covered her mouth with his.

“Next time, we’ll make it to the bedroom,” he muttered. “I promise.”

Jake drove Chloe to UW the next morning, in time for her ten o’clock class, leaving her at the open lecture-hall door. She walked inside and dropped her books on the table, reassured by his solid presence in the shade of the big old walnut tree.

An hour later, Chloe left the lecture hall by the side door. Despite the unresolved threat posed by George Dodd, anticipation at the prospect of spending the next few hours with Jake made her lighthearted. Her smile faded when she discovered that he wasn’t waiting for her. She reached the tree and stopped beneath its leafy shade, but there was no sign of him anywhere.

“Where is he?” she wondered out loud.

After a few minutes, she gave up and set off alone down the walkway toward Liberty Hall.

Keys in one hand and cell phone in the other, she punched in Jake’s number as she slipped the office key into the lock. The pile of books in her arms began to slide and she grabbed for the top two but there were too many to catch. Gravity took control and she let the phone slide into her skirt pocket while she struggled to keep from dropping the entire stack.

“Darn it.” Annoyed, she pushed open the door, concentrating on juggling the armload of books and still hold on to her purse and briefcase while she hurried into her office. She tumbled the pile onto her desk; two of the books kept sliding and hit the floor behind the desk.

She heard the door click shut.

“Miss Abbott. How nice of you to join us.”

Chloe spun to face the closed door. A man stood with his back against it. He wore a gray suit and a cap with Executive Limos embroidered in black above the shiny bill. The small, lethal-looking black gun, pointed directly at her, was rock steady in his hand.

In the corner to his right was Winifred, her hands secured with plastic handcuffs in front of her, silver duct tape over her mouth.

“Gran!” Chloe jerked, taking a quick instinctive step toward her grandmother. The man’s voice stopped her.

“No, no. Stay where you are.” He smiled gently. “Unless, of course, you want to see your grandmother hurt.”

“Who are you?”