Barbara Phinney - Fatal Secrets

“I’ve checked everywhere.”

“But there’s the Bob Marshall Wilderness Area nearby. People spend months in The Bob all alone.”

“I’ll consider it after we’ve settled your case. Do you think your lecturer would talk about the artist?”

“I’m sure he would. He bored me silly for a whole semester about other artists and they’re dead.”

Abruptly, Zane laughed. “Ouch! That’s awfully critical, isn’t it?”

“You’re right.” She smiled back.

She liked being around Zane.

His gaze drifted over her shoulder toward the front entrance. Suddenly, he stiffened. “Kristin, listen to me carefully,” he whispered. “Take your purse and walk toward the washroom, but don’t go in. Do it now!”

She opened her mouth, but his icy glare froze any questions. Lifting her purse, she slid out of the booth.

“Hurry, but don’t run,” he said quietly, taking a fake sip of water. “And don’t look around.”

A minute later, she found herself down the dim hall near the washrooms, her heart pounding. From the front of the restaurant, the sound of a loud crash bounced down to her.

She jumped. What was going on?

Suddenly, a dark blur raced toward her and propelled her into the restaurant’s busy kitchen. Inside the steamy room, a young cook’s eyes widened in shock.

Then someone slapped a hand over her mouth.

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