Barbara Phinney - Fatal Secrets

“Kristin, you need to trust the person you hire to find her, and obviously you’re not ready to do that. When you are, call me back.”

“It’s not a matter of trust here.”

“Then you’re being too stubborn for some reason. I need cooperation and trust before I can go any further with this.”

“But I need to find her. It’s a matter of—” She cut off her words.

“Of life and death?” He threw her a dubious look. “Then go to the police.”

“I can’t. And I can’t explain why.”

“Then I can’t help you.” He straightened. The café around him came into sharp focus. Being a typical college-town café, it had atmosphere aplenty, right down to the poster styled mirror mounted on the wall behind Kristin. In that brief instance, he caught his reflection.

Did his brother look like him? For the past two years, since his mother had finally told him the truth, he’d searched for the man, a full brother two years younger. Would he ever meet him?

He looked down at Kristin. “You’ve got my number. Call when you’re ready.” His heel drilled into the battered pine floor as he pivoted. He could feel her gaze glued to his back as he walked out the door.

The sun had already warmed the day, more than expected, he thought. He’d been in northwest Montana for two years and had noticed that springtime here could mean anything weather-wise.

Today, the sun beat down on him and he pulled from his jacket pocket a pair of sunglasses. He strode across the street, noticing the traffic had increased with a small town’s version of morning rush hour.

“Zane!”

He turned. Kristin stood in the café’s entrance, holding the door with one hand, her purse with the other. Once she’d caught his attention, she released the handle and trotted across the sidewalk, cutting through the increasing flow of pedestrians. The favorable weather was luring people outside in droves. Older people and students who’d chosen to stay the summer to get extra credits, a popular thing to do here, all seemed to be walking to work or school today.

For the first time, he could fully see what she was wearing. Dark jeans, a thin university hoodie and, over it, a light vest. Typical college-student wear around here.

She’s changed her mind, he thought, having decided that vagueness wasn’t going to locate her mother. Smart girl, but frankly, he wasn’t interested. His own family, his mom especially, had been secretive enough. Sure, she had her own trouble with his father, but she hadn’t once stood up for her adopted son, the boy she’d promised to care for. Instead, she’d kept secrets from him, even lying to save her own skin sometimes. Leaving his skin to be blistered from beatings.

He’d had a lifetime’s worth of secretive garbage, and he didn’t feel like dragging the same stuff from another reluctant woman.

At the outer edge of his vision, a truck accelerated, grinding first gear into second as it approached. Kristin stopped between the cars parked on an angle, her glance down the busy street telling Zane she also saw the truck coming. He waited. Should he take her on as a client?

Depends on what she says, he decided.

He glanced again at the midsize delivery truck, old and battered, with a grizzled, bearded driver. As the power train jerked into third gear, the vehicle lurched closer.

A scream sliced through the air, and Zane snapped his head back over.

Her arms flaying out wildly, Kristin was falling directly into the truck’s path.

Zane leaped forward, only to be blocked by the truck. The driver laid on the horn, adding to the sound of screeching brakes as the huge vehicle careened to a lumbering stop.

Zane slammed into its left side and after he spun once, he raced around the back.

Kristin was sprawled facedown by the right front tire, her purse beside her. Zane sliced through the growing crowd as she began to roll over.

“Don’t move,” he told her. “Stay still for a minute. You may be hurt.”

The truck driver hurried around the front bumper. “Is she all right? I didn’t see her until she jumped out at me!”

Kristin sat up. “I didn’t jump. I was pushed.”

The driver stepped back in shock. Zane took the opportunity to move in front of him. As he did, Kristin threw back her hair. “Someone shoved me!”

Immediately, Zane glanced around, stretching his vision from one end of the street to the other. Apart from the crowd that had gathered, he saw no one hurrying away. Murmurs threaded through the onlookers at her accusation, each person checking out their neighbor. He watched each surprised face. No one looked guilty.

Zane stooped to take her arm. “I told you not to move.”

She grabbed him and pulled herself to her feet. “I’m fine. A little scraped up, that’s all.” Then, with a shocked gaze, she looked around. “Didn’t you see him? The man who pushed me?”

The driver shook his head. “I laid on the horn when I first saw you,” he cried out. “It looked like you’d stumbled!”

She threw off Zane’s helping hand. “I didn’t stumble. I was pushed. I distinctly felt two hands on my back.” She looked at Zane. “You didn’t see him, either?”

“No.” Inwardly, he cringed at his short word. It wasn’t as though he suspected her of lying, but with the blank looks from the crowd gathering around them, he wondered briefly if she’d staged this to get his attention.

Was this a ploy to avoid telling her precious secret, all the while gaining sympathy and an agreement to take her case?

Zane gritted his teeth. His mother had done something similar when he’d begun to ask questions. She’d faked an illness to avoid the truth.

Kristin straightened. “Well, someone pushed me.” With a hand that was definitely shaking, she smoothed her straight brown hair. For one brief moment, he caught sight of a long white scar just above her temple. Then, as quickly as it was exposed, it slipped back into hiding beneath the straight cloak of shiny brown tresses.

And as if realizing she was creating a scene, Kristin grabbed her purse and brushed off her jeans. “I know what I felt. I was pushed, but managed to roll away from the truck in the nick of time.”

Zane moved her away from the crowd. It wasn’t such a good idea to attract this much attention. Kristin had been evasive for a reason, and while he hated secrecy, he knew she shouldn’t be standing in the middle of the street if she needed some privacy or protection. And as a private investigator, he preferred to keep a low profile, as well. Playing hero for all to see wasn’t what his profession was about. He was trained to blend into the crowd, notice things without being noticed.

To that end, he steered her around the truck and toward his car, to get away from local curiosity.

“Let’s go.”

“Where?”

“To the truck stop out by the highway. We’ll talk there.”

She followed him to his car, hesitantly, stopping short of climbing in. “I don’t get into strangers’ cars.”

“Good advice for anyone.” Then, pulling out his car keys, he handed them to her. “You can drive if it makes you feel safer. Do you know the truck stop I’m talking about?”

“Of course. I was bor— I mean I grew up here.”

He caught her correction, but decided to ignore it for now.

“But driving your car isn’t going to make it safer for me,” she reasoned.

“Let me show you my ID. But frankly, you should have asked for it as soon as I sat down in the café.”

“You’re the first private investigator I’ve ever hired. And you come highly recommended.” After checking out his ID, she took the keys and clicked the unlock button before tossing her purse into the back. With a short hesitation, she climbed in behind the wheel. Automatically, she moved the seat up to accommodate her shorter stature.