Joanna Wayne - Riding Shotgun

No answer. She called again. And again.

Finally, she left a message urging him to call her back. No use to panic, she reminded herself as her nerves grew edgier. His hearing wasn’t that great anymore and he was too damned stubborn to admit he needed hearing aids. He probably couldn’t hear the phone over the equipment he was operating.

No doubt he’d be calling her back any moment. After all, the only reason he’d agreed to carry what he called the most annoying invention of all time was in case she had an emergency and needed him.

Ten minutes later, he hadn’t called back. Her stomach churned, though she’d lost her appetite.

She’d best go check on Charlie. She took off down the worn path, past the chicken coop and to the barn. The tractor was in plain sight. Charlie wasn’t. She was almost running by the time she neared the open barn door.

She stopped stock-still. A stream of crimson snaked out of the barn and spread over the dirt. She went numb, struck with sudden, paralyzing fear.

Then, heart pounding, she grabbed her chest and stumbled inside.

A pool of blood. A head split wide-open. A gun.

The images ripped through her. Icy fingers wrapped around her heart, squeezing so hard that her chest seemed to explode. The last thing she remembered was the metallic taste on her tongue as she collapsed face-first into the river of Charlie’s blood.

Chapter One

Three months later

Grace Cotton looked up and into a pair of twinkling gray-blue eyes encircled by deep wrinkles and saggy skin. Elizabeth Howe was just one of the many reasons she loved working in the small-town Tennessee library.

“You’re all set,” Grace said. “As soon as the book is available, I’ll give you a call.”

“Tell them not to dally too long. At ninety-two, I don’t have time to wait around on a novel. I don’t even buy green bananas.”

Grace smiled at the joke even though Mrs. Howe repeated it every time she visited the library. Still, the feisty woman was amazing for her age. Got around just fine with the help of a jeweled, engraved cane, a gift to her from an English duke she’d met on a cruise aboard the Queen Mary a few years back. She’d obviously enchanted him the way she did everyone who knew her.

“Buy all the green bananas you want,” Grace teased. “I expect you’ll still be devouring romance novels long after I’ve retired.”

“No chance of that, but I’ll be reading them as long as I can. Even old worn-out bodies like mine need a little fantasy.”

Young bodies, too, though Grace steered clear of it. Longing bred temptation, and she didn’t dare so much as flirt with temptation.

“Bundle up before you go outside,” Grace reminded her. “That north wind cuts to the bone.”

“Don’t I know it,” Elizabeth said, pulling her parka tight over her slender body. She zipped it and tugged the hood over short silver wisps of her hair until she was just a wrinkled face peeking out of a furry frame.

She reached for the books she’d chosen from the shelves, several Grace knew she’d read before.

“Let me help you get those to the car,” Grace offered.

Elizabeth waved her off. “I don’t need help. I’m parked under the overhang in the book drop-off lane. Right by the no-parking sign.” She winked. “I figure having a great-grandson who’s a deputy ought to get me a perk on a day like this.”

“I’d say you’re right.” Not that anyone in town would question where Elizabeth parked her fifteen-year-old blue Honda. She was a living legend in this mountain town where she’d been born and lived all her life.

Grace envied her that. Having so many close friends, living in one place so long she was part of the town’s fabric.

Elizabeth picked up her books with her left hand and took her cane in her right. Grace would at least open the heavy front door for her. As Grace stepped from behind the counter, the door swung open, ushering in an icy blast.

Grace turned to see who else had ventured out on this cold December afternoon. The library was practically deserted today.

The young man was in jeans, an unzipped black leather jacket and no hat, clearly paying little heed to the area’s first real taste of winter.

He held the door for Elizabeth and then stepped inside. His earth-colored eyes fastened on Grace, his gaze searing into hers. The intensity rattled her. She stared back.

She’d looked into those eyes before. Three days ago in the cereal aisle of Tatum’s grocery. She’d looked up as she dropped a package of granola into her cart and spotted the man a few feet away, his stare as penetrating as it was now.

She’d seen him again yesterday, practically running into him on the sidewalk when she’d walked out of the town’s pharmacy. Again he had stared before disappearing into the shop himself.

Panic knotted her stomach. Her fingers tightened around the corner of the counter. She took a deep breath and struggled to separate her fears from reality.

This was a small town. Running into him didn’t mean the stranger was following her. But it didn’t guarantee that he wasn’t, either.

He let his gaze drop from hers and glanced around the library.

“May I help you?” she asked as he approached the counter.

“I’m new in town. What do I do to get a library card?”

“You’ll need a photo ID and a local address.”

“No problem.” He pulled out his wallet and flashed a Louisiana driver’s license. A new wave of panic hit. She forced her hands not to shake as she pulled a printed form from the niche below the counter.

“Just fill this out, read the requirements for checking out books and sign your consent,” she said.

“How long before I get the card?”

“I can give you a number that will allow you to check out books today. The permanent card will be mailed to your local home address.”

“That’ll work.”

“What brings you to our area?” she asked.

“A job.”

He didn’t offer more. She tensed again. The small town of Mountain Edge was not a mecca for employment opportunities.

He looked over the form and then took a pen from the black plastic cup. Before making a mark, he shook his head and returned the pen to its holder. “Sorry. My phone always interrupts at the most inconvenient times.”

She hadn’t heard it ring. Either he had it on vibrate as the note on the counter requested or he was stalling.

He pulled his phone from his pocket as he stepped away from the counter and then walked back to the deserted reference section.

“This is it for today.”

Grace startled, then turned as John Everly, a local retired attorney, set a stack of books on the counter.

She glanced at the books he’d chosen, a mix of thrillers, political intrigue and history. “Nice choices.”

“Hope so. Looks like we’re going to have a few more days of arctic blasts, so figured I better stock up on reading material.”

“You’re right,” she agreed, “nothing better than getting lost in an engrossing novel while cuddled in front of a roaring fire in this type of weather.”

“And it’s only mid-December,” he said. “I hate to think what January’s going to bring.”

She checked out the books and pushed them back to him. “Stay warm.”

“You, too.”

As he walked away, she scanned the room until she spotted the suspicious stranger near the end of one of the stacks, phone in hand, but not held to his ear. He was taking her picture.

When he saw her looking back, he quickly shoved the phone in his jacket pocket.

He knew who she was. Why else would he be taking her picture?

She fought the urge to jump across the counter and bolt for the door. But panic could lead to bad decisions. Forcing herself to stay in control, she considered her options.