Page 78 of Four Cards Exposed

“Shut up, JMiller. I’m not going to deck anyone. Thanks for the offer, Michael, but I’m okay. I can defend myself, but you’ll learn Sharp’s Cove is a safe town.”

Outside the bar, the cool evening breeze caressed her hair. She turned her head into the breeze, inhaling deeply. It smelled of the sea in a way the city never had. There, even by the water, the air had been tainted with the smell of heavy fuel oil.

Here, in Sharp’s Cove, Susan could feel the ocean all around her. She understood why her mom had come here and never left—couldn’t imagine living anywhere else, if she were honest.

The sudden thought struck her that this might be a deal-breaker for James. She wondered what she’d do if so.

The key snagged inside her lock. She tugged and pulled, so distracted that it was a long instant before she noticed the scratches on the outside of her lock.

Scratches that weren’t there this morning.

Her hand went down to the firearm before remembering she’d left it in the station. Susan took a step back, ready to run down the porch steps, when suddenly the door opened inwards, pulling her inside.

A hard hand wrapped around her mouth, another around her neck, pulling tight.

“Hola Milena,” a harsh voice whispered in her ear.

The door shut with a thud, and something sharp pricked her neck.

24

* * *

James

He’d told Susan he’d be in Sharp’s Cove for lunch, but it was going to be one hell of an early lunch if they ate when he arrived, since he was going to be there by eleven at the latest.

He’d woken up early, feeling like a child on Christmas Day. After a quick run and a quick breakfast, he’d finally gotten on the road at eight a.m.

He couldn’t wait to see Susan.

He was wearing clean, pressed jeans and a dark fitted henley that fit tighter than it used to—he’d gained a fair amount of muscle over the last few months. It wasn’t quite jeans and a T-shirt, but not one of his regular suits, either. He wondered what Susan would think.

He’d only just left the highway when his phone rang—an unknown number.

“Ramsay,” he said.

If it was somebody from work, he was giving them Lorraine’s contact and hanging up. Nobody was going to ruin his weekend.

“James, it’s Natalie.”

James knew a couple of women with the same name, but he didn’t have to ask who she was. He recognized Natalie Bowmann’s voice.

His heart stopped for a beat. He pushed through the panic, keeping his hands steady on the steering wheel.

“Natalie? Is everything okay?”

“Susan’s missing,” she said without preamble.

No.

Please, no.

“What do you mean, missing?” he asked stupidly, as if he wasn’t a federal agent, as if he hadn’t heard those same dreadful words before.

Countless times.

In so many dreadful contexts.