Susan Sleeman - Christmas Hideout

Matt could hardly believe his granddad had said that when he had such high expectations of Matt as the next sheriff.

“A valid point.” His father spun to peer at Granddad. “Just not one that applies to a woman in potential danger.”

“Leave the boy be, Walt.” Granddad crossed his arms. “He’s got a good head on his shoulders, and you’ve trained him well.”

Matt knew he needed to step in before this discussion turned into an argument. He changed his focus to his granddad. “Soon as I get everything settled with Nicole’s car and run home to take a quick shower, I’ll stop back for you, and we can make that road trip.”

Excitement burned on his grandfather’s face, and he clapped Matt on the back.

Matt gave him a smile of thanks and headed for the entryway. Nicole came down the steps, her keys jingling.

“My apartment key is on this ring, too.” She handed the keys and a slip of paper to him. “I know you got my address last night, but I jotted it down for you.”

He took the items, careful not to touch her hand. He hated to admit it, but his dad was right. She got to him, and he could only imagine what even one touch might do. “My family will be here while I’m gone. You need anything, you ask them, okay? They’re on your side.”

“Thank you.” A tentative smile crossed her face.

He longed to solve her problem and put a wide smile like Emilie’s there instead. And that was precisely why he stepped onto the porch to call Clem at the garage.

After he finished arranging to have Nicole’s car picked up, he ran for his family’s old truck. He fought against the brisk wind whipping from the north. This wind could signal a drop in temperature, not an unusual occurrence for December in the Texas Hill Country.

He took the truck to his apartment on the outskirts of Lost Creek, where he showered and changed into a comfy pair of jeans, his favorite boots, a button-down shirt and a heavy denim jacket. Back in the vehicle, he tuned in the local radio station to make sure there wasn’t any snow forecasted for their area. With their elevation, it wasn’t unusual to get a light dusting of snow at this time of year. The forecast came on just as he arrived at Clem’s place on the other side of town. Snow flurries were possible, and the cold temperatures were forecast to continue for some time, but nothing to delay his trip.

He parked in a small area to the side of the ancient whitewashed building with a rusty metal awning. An old wrecker pulled into the lot hauling a white Honda Accord, the plates confirming it was Nicole’s car. Matt hopped down and met Clem as he parked and got out of his truck. He was dressed in clean coveralls, the fabric straining over a large belly. His face sported heavy jowls and a roadmap of wrinkles from his many years in the Texas sun.

Matt handed over the keys. “The owner’s phone is out of commission for the time being, so give me a call the minute you know anything, okay?”

“Sure thing,” Clem said.

Matt shook hands with Clem before climbing back into the old pickup. His phone rang, and he checked the caller ID to see a call from Kendall. Hoping she’d gotten Austin PD to send the blotter records, he eagerly answered.

“I know you’re off today,” she said. “But you’re gonna want to hear this. We had a shooting at the Wagon Wheel Motel. No injuries, but the guest staying in the room has cleared out. Was registered to an Otto Cutler.”

Matt had never heard of the guy, but then that didn’t surprise him, as a motel guest would most likely be from out of town. “You think it was an accidental discharge, and Cutler bailed to avoid being slapped with a misdemeanor?”

“Looks like more than that.”

“Okay, so tell me.”

“On a whim, I showed Grady Harmon’s picture to Zeke.” Zeke had owned and operated the motel for going on thirty years.

“And?” Matt asked, his interest piqued now.

“And he says Harmon was the guest registered as Cutler.”

Matt’s heart plummeted. “Harmon’s here? In Lost Creek?”

“Looks like it, and that’s not all. Tessa discovered something on a notepad in the room.” Their other sister was Lake County’s lead crime scene investigator. “Harmon removed the top page, but he’d left impressions on the page below. He’d written Nicole’s name over and over like some crazed stalker.”

Matt’s gut tightened at the information. “And no sign of Harmon? His car, nothing?”

“Nothing.”

“Let me know if you find anything else.”

“You don’t want to come over here?”

“Want to, yes. Going to, no. If Harmon’s in town, he could know Nicole and Emilie are at the ranch. I need to make sure they’re safe.” Matt hung up and cranked the engine while calling his father’s cell phone.

It went straight to voice mail. He had to be on another call.

Matt dialed the house.

One ring. Two. Three.

“C’mon. C’mon. C’mon.”

The answering machine kicked in, which almost never happened. Someone usually answered.

Had Harmon gotten to them?

Matt could easily imagine the crazed stalker standing there, his gun on Matt’s family, Nicole and Emilie.

The knot in Matt’s gut tightened. He shifted into gear and spun out of the lot, praying as the tires rolled over asphalt that he would get to his family and the vulnerable pair before it was too late.

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