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Jane paled. “I didn’t realize. I’m so sorry, I can ask her to leave if it isn’t okay.”
He gave a sharp wave of his hand. “Finish your lunch, Ms. Webster, but I want to talk to you after Marcy returns.”
He gave Sara a long, searching look, as if cataloging her every feature for future reference, then disappeared down the hallway as quietly as he’d come.
When Jane handed Sara the coffee, her hands were trembling. “I’m sorry—I hope he wasn’t too upset when he found you here. I really didn’t think it would be a problem.”
“I think he was more startled than anything,” Sara said easily. “Finding a stranger alone in an office would look suspicious to any manager. I don’t blame him a bit for worrying.” She waved a hand toward the computer and the banks of file cabinets. “You probably have tons of sensitive business data in here, right? The scoop on everything that goes on?”
Jane sank into the chair behind her desk and gave a gusty sigh. “Just human-resource information. Records of staff problems and dismissals. Everything else is down in accounting. I honestly can’t imagine anyone being interested—it’s hard enough for me to deal with this every day.”
“I suppose. So was that the big boss?”
“You bet. Ian Flynn is the owner. When he retired, he promoted Robert Hanson to take over, but Ian still comes in almost every day.”
“Is Hanson good to work for?”
Jane tried to smother a laugh. “Let’s just say that he knows every aspect of this business and runs a tight ship. Without him, who knows? Some people figure the company wouldn’t be in business if it weren’t for Robert.”
“Nice guy to work with?”
“Very efficient. Very particular.” She grinned. “I think he’s sort of cute, too. He’s even available.”
Interesting. “I wish you luck, then.”
They finished the sandwiches, then munched on the chips and fruit, catching up on old news around town. At twelve-thirty, Jane gave a sigh of contentment.
“This has been fun,” she said wistfully. “Maybe we can get together sometime for supper, or lunch on my day off? I haven’t had much time for fun since I moved back here.”
“I’d love that.” Sara eased her conscience by telling herself that she could well have befriended this lonely woman anyway.
Once outside, she sauntered out to her SUV as if she hadn’t a care in the world. But the hairs at the back of her neck prickled, and she knew someone was watching. Jane, maybe? As she opened the door, she glanced casually over her shoulder, prepared to wave to her old friend.
There was someone standing in the shadows at an upstairs window, all right. But it wasn’t a woman.
* * * *
FOR THE REST of the week, Sara continued her surveillance of Sanderson by night and her observation of the town by day.
She received PDFs directly from the state Crime Alert Network just as Nathan probably did at his office. If a steady stream of drugs were being routed through this sleepy little town, it wasn’t obvious.
New information in Allen’s daily messages had tapered off, though he’d recently relayed rumors about a large shipment planned in several weeks.
Long-term surveillance could be boring, frustrating, and go on for months on end without any real excitement, but this case—set in the town of her childhood—carried with it a sense of the surreal.
Maybe if things had been different, she would have felt at home and enjoyed the time away from Dallas, but she had few connections here. The tragedy of her father’s death, her mother’s reaction, and the public outcry against her family’s name had changed everything.
Friday night she glanced out the window of the apartment, then whistled Harold to her side. Darkness had fallen, and it was time to leave.
Up on the hill overlooking the plant, she settled into her usual spot with Harold curled at her feet, withdrew her binoculars, notebook, and penlight, and waited.
The nights were cooler now—mid-October had brought a hard frost last night. Sara remembered that winter snows sometimes started as early as Halloween. With luck, this would be a milder winter than most.
Over the past three weeks, she’d continued her surveillance, documented activity at the plant, sent in daily reports. Repetitive details, but if the tip about major drug shipments coming through this town was true, destroying this pipeline would mean one more battle in the war on drugs had been won.
For that, she’d stay here as long as it took.
At midnight Harold stirred. A low growl rumbled through his body and vibrated against her calf.
