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  Jordan Young dismissed his drunken friend with a wave of his hand. “It’s the booze talking. His sales numbers haven’t been great lately, but it has nothing to do with the recent publicity we’ve been getting. Hell, Kendall Rush’s aunt’s place sold for top dollar. He’s just ticked off that he didn’t get that listing.”

  He took Beth’s hand in his and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I’m a big fan of the show, Ms. St. Regis.”

  “Thanks.” She nudged Duke in the back. “Are you a Realtor, too?”

  “Me?” He chuckled. “Not really. I’m a developer, and I have a lot more to lose than Bill here if things go south, but that’s not going to happen—Evergreen Software will make sure of that.”

  “You need to tell your friend to keep his mouth shut about Beth.”

  “Duke.” She put her hand on his arm. His stint in Siberia hadn’t done anything to temper his combativeness. “I’m sure he’s not serious—at least about the tar-and-feathering part.”

  Young winked. “Good to see you have a sense of humor about it, Ms. St. Regis, but I can understand your...coworker wanting to be protective.”

  Duke didn’t correct him. If the residents of Timberline knew all about Cold Case Chronicles looking into the Timberline Trio, they didn’t seem to be as knowledgeable about the FBI putting the case back on its radar. Maybe Duke wanted to keep it that way.

  “You can call me Beth.” Her eyes flicked over his gray-streaked hair and the lines on his face. “Were you here at the time of the initial kidnappings?”

  “I was. Sad time for us.” He withdrew a silver card case from his suit jacket and flipped it open. “If you’re implying you want to interview me, I might be available, although I don’t know how much I could contribute.”

  She took the card and ran her thumb across the gold-embossed letters. “You’d be the first one in town without some special insight.”

  “Can you blame them?” He spread his hands. “A chance to be on TV and talk to the beautiful host?”

  “Thank you.” The guy was smooth but almost avuncular. Duke could wipe the scowl from his face, but she didn’t mind that another man’s attentions to her irritated him.

  “You should take care of your buddy here.” Duke jerked his thumb at Bill, still resting his head on the bar.

  “I’ll get him home safely to his wife. Good night, now.” Young turned back to the bar. “Serena, can you get Bill a strong cup of coffee? Make it black, sweetheart.”

  Duke put his hand on her back as he propelled her out of the restaurant—with almost every pair of eyes following them.

  As Duke swung the door open for her, Chloe rushed up and patted her apron. “I’ll be calling you, Beth. I don’t care what Bill Raney says.”

  “Looking forward to it, Chloe.”

  When they stepped outside, Duke tilted his head. “Really? You’re looking forward to talking to Chloe about Wyatt Carson?”

  “You never know what might pop up in a conversation. Maybe Wyatt remembered something about his brother’s kidnapping that he never told the cops.”

  “Why wouldn’t he have told the cops?”

  Beth zipped up her vest. “Because he turned out to be a nut job.”

  “Seems to be no scarcity of those in this town.” He hunched into his suede coat, rubbing his hands together. “Where are you parked?”

  “In the public lot down the block. This is Timberline. You don’t have to walk me to my car.”

  “Just so happens I’m parked there, too.” He nudged her with his elbow. “There have been two high-profile kidnapping cases in Timberline. I wouldn’t take your safety for granted here. There might be more people here who feel like Bill.”

  “I’m hardly in danger of getting tarred and feathered...or kidnapped.” She stuffed her hands into her pockets and lifted her shoulders to her ears. She may have already been kidnapped from Timberline once. What were the odds of it happening again?

  Duke followed her through the parking lot to her car anyway, occasionally bumping her shoulder but never taking her hand. What did she expect? That they would pick up where they’d left off two years ago? Before he’d accused her of using him? Before she’d used him?

  As she reached the rental, her boots crunched against the asphalt and she jerked her head up. “Damn. Somebody broke the window of my car.”

  “Safe Timberline, huh? Maybe Bill did his dirty work before he hit the restaurant.” Duke hunched forward to look at the damage to the window on the driver’s side. “You didn’t have a laptop sitting on the passenger seat, did you?”

  “No, but...” Her ears started ringing and she grabbed the handle of the car door and yanked it open.

  Someone had taken the bag from the gift shop. Collapsing in the driver’s seat, she slammed her hands against the steering wheel. “My frog. They took my frog.”

  Chapter Four

  Duke’s eyebrows shot up at the sob in Beth’s voice. Someone had smashed the window of her rental car and she was worried about a frog?

  “Beth?” He placed his hand against the nape of her neck and curled his fingers around the soft skin beneath her down vest. “What frog, Beth?”

  She sniffled and dragged the back of her hand across her nose. “Some frog I bought in a gift store. I... It’s particular to Timberline.”

  “I’m sure they have more.” He released her and braced his hand against the roof of the car. Why was she overreacting about a frog? She must be driving herself hard again, maybe even succumbing to those panic attacks that had plagued her for years.

  Because she didn’t even know about the warning the FBI had received about her. He’d debated telling her but didn’t want to worry her needlessly about an anonymous email. Who knew? The emailer may have sent the same message to Beth or her production company. Maybe that was why she was breaking down over a frog.

  “You can replace the frog. Will your insurance fix the window on the rental car?”

  “I’m sure I’m covered for that.” She leaned into the passenger seat and peeked beneath the seat.

  “It’s gone?”

  “Yep.”

  He kicked a piece of glass with the toe of his boot. “You’re not sitting on glass, are you? The window broke inward, so there’s gotta be some on the seat.”

  “There wasn’t.” She climbed out of the car and gripped the edge of the door as if to keep herself steady and upright. “He must’ve brushed it off.”

  “We’re reporting this.” Duke pulled his phone from his pocket, scrolled through his contacts and placed a call to the Timberline Sheriff’s Department. “We have some vandalism, a broken car window, in the public lot on the corner of Main and River.”

  He gave them his name and a description of Beth’s rental car before ending the call.

  “Are they coming?” She cupped the keys to the car in one hand and bounced them in her palm.

  “Of course. This isn’t LA.” He grabbed her hand and held it up, inspecting the dot of blood on the tip of her ring finger. “There was some glass in the car. Are you sure you’re okay?”

  Her wide eyes focused on the blood and she swayed—another overreaction. She seemed to be taking this break-in hard. Maybe she did know about the warning against her—and he didn’t mean Bill’s drunken threats.

  Grasping her wrist lightly, he said, “Come with me to my car down the aisle. I have some tissues in there and some water.”

  By the time they reached his rental, she’d regained a measure of composure. “Idiots. Why would someone go through all the trouble of breaking a window on a rental car to get to a bag of stuff from a tourist shop?”

  “Maybe if you hadn’t left your bag on the passenger seat in plain view.” He unlocked his car and reached into the backseat for a box of tissues, and then grabbed the half-filled bottle of wat
er from his cup holder. “How many times have I told you not to leave things in your car?”

  “Let’s see.” She held out her middle finger. “Must’ve been a hundred times at least.”

  “Very funny. It’s your ring finger.” At least she’d come out of her daze.

  “Oops.” She held out the correct finger and wiggled it.

  He moistened a tissue with some water and held it against the bead of blood. “Apply some pressure to that. Did you get cut anywhere else?”

  “Not that I can tell.” She tipped her chin toward the cop car rolling into the parking lot. “The deputies are here.”

  As two deputies got out of the car, Duke whispered in Beth’s ear. “That’s what I like about Timberline. Two cops come out to investigate a broken window and a missing frog.”

  She stiffened beside him but a laugh gurgled in her throat.

  She’d sure grown attached to that frog in a short span of time...unless there was something else in the bag she didn’t want to tell him about. With Beth St. Regis, the possibilities were limitless.

  The first deputy approached them, adjusting his equipment belt. “You call in the broken window?”

  “And a theft. I had a bag in the car from Timberline Treasures.”

  The second deputy pointed at Beth. “You’re Beth St. Regis from that show.”

  “Do you watch it?”

  “No, just heard you were in town to dig up the old Timberline Trio case.”

  “I think Wyatt Carson already did that.” She jerked her thumb at Duke. “You do know the FBI is looking into the case again, too.”

  The officer nodded at Duke and stuck out his hand. “Deputy Stevens. I heard the FBI was sending in a cold-case agent. The sheriff already turned over our files, right?”

  “Special Agent Duke Harper.” He shook hands with the other man. “And I have the files.”

  The other officer stepped forward, offering his hand as well. “Deputy Unger. We’ll do whatever we can to help you. My mother was good friends with Mrs. Brice at the time of the kidnapping. I was about five years older than Heather when she went missing. That family was never the same after that. Had to leave the area.”

  Beth was practically buzzing beside him. “Deputy Unger, could I interview you for the show?”

  “Ma’am, no disrespect intended, but I’m here to help the FBI. I’m not interested in being a part of sensationalizing the crime. We’ve had enough of that lately.”

  “But...”

  Duke poked her in the back. “You wanna have a look at the car now?”

  “Sure. We’ll take a report for the rental-car company and insurance purposes. Probably a kid or one of our local junkies.”

  Duke asked, “Do you have a drug problem in Timberline?”

  “Crystal meth, just like a lot of rural areas.” Unger flipped open his notebook and scribbled across the page.

  When they finished taking the report, they shook hands with Duke again. “Anything we can do, Agent Harper.”

  “Well, they weren’t very friendly.” Beth curled one fist against her hip.

  “I thought they were very friendly.”

  “Yeah, you get the cops and I get Carson’s ex-girlfriend’s dog walker’s cousin.”

  “Second cousin’s ex–dog sitter.”

  “Right.” She tossed her purse onto the passenger seat of the car and hung on the door. “Thanks for seeing me through the report...and the words of advice.”

  He was close enough to her that the musky smell of her perfume wafted over him. “Do you want some more advice, Beth?”

  She blinked. “If you’re dishing it out.”

  “Find another case for your show. Get off this Timberline Trio gig. Since I’m in the Siberia of cold-case hell anyway, I can even toss a couple of good ones your way.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “Why would you do that? You must really want me off this case.”

  “It’s not me.” Raking a hand through his hair, he blew out a breath. “Someone else wants you off this case.”

  “What? Who? Bill?”

  “We got an anonymous email and I don’t think it was from Bill Raney.”

  “That’s crazy. The FBI got an email about little, old me? How did anyone even know I was doing a show on the Timberline Trio?”

  “How long have you been in Timberline?”

  “Two days.”

  “We got the email two days ago.”

  She sucked in her bottom lip. “You think it’s someone here?”

  “It has to be, unless the station has been doing promo for it.”

  “Not yet. We wouldn’t release anything about a story we haven’t even done yet. It might never come off.”

  “Then it has to be someone here in Timberline or someone related to someone in Timberline. You haven’t exactly been shy about your purpose here.”

  “No point in that. But why contact the FBI?” She snapped her fingers. “It must be someone who knows the FBI is looking into the case, too. Maybe this anonymous emailer figures the FBI will have some pull with me.”

  Duke snorted. “Mr. Anonymous obviously doesn’t know you.”

  “You know what’s strange?”

  “Huh?”

  “Why didn’t this person warn off the FBI? If it’s someone who doesn’t want me looking into the Timberline Trio, why would this same person be okay with the FBI dredging up the case?”

  “I have no idea. Maybe he thinks Cold Case Chronicles has a better shot at solving the case than the FBI.” He scanned her thoughtful face. “That was a joke.”

  “It’s strange, Duke. I suppose you tried to trace the email.”

  “With no luck.”

  “Must be someone who’s computer savvy, which isn’t hard to find in this town with Evergreen Software in the picture.”

  He captured a lock of her silky hair and twisted it around his finger. “How about it, Beth? Why don’t you back off? I’ll find you another case, a better case for your show.”

  “You don’t really think I’m in danger from an anonymous email, do you? I get a lot of anonymous emails, Duke. Some are unrepeatable.”

  “What about this?” He smacked his palm on the roof of the car. “Someone sends a threat and then someone breaks into your car. Do you think it’s a coincidence?”

  “Could just be a tweaker like Unger said. Besides, this could be good for you.”

  “How so?”

  “If someone who was involved in the disappearance of the Timberline Trio twenty-five years ago wants me off the case and is willing to harass me about it, you might be able to pick him up and actually solve the case.”

  “You think I’d use you, put you at risk to solve a twenty-five-year-old case?” He clenched his jaw.

  She swallowed, her Adam’s apple bobbing in her slender throat. “I...”

  “Just because you did it, don’t expect the same treatment from me.” He backed away from her car. “Drive carefully.”

  * * *

  WITH TEARS FLOODING her eyes, which had nothing to do with the cold air coming through the broken window, Beth glanced at Duke’s blurry headlights in her rearview mirror.

  He hadn’t forgiven her, despite his concern for her safety tonight.

  Maybe that concern was all a big act. Maybe the anonymous email was a lie. Why would someone want to warn her away from the case but not warn the FBI?

  Unless this someone knew her true identity. Did someone suspect her real purpose for highlighting the Timberline case?

  She pulled into the parking lot of the Timberline Hotel with Duke right behind her. They even got out of their cars at the same time. He followed her inside, but made no attempt to talk to her.

  She dreaded the awkward elevator ride, but he peeled
off and headed for the stairwell. Once she stepped into the elevator, she sagged against the wall.

  Was the warning to the FBI connected to the break-in? Had the thief grabbed the bag because she’d left it out, or had he wanted to send a message by taking the Libby Love frog? And what was that message?

  She slid her card key in the door and leaned into it to shove it open.

  She dropped her purse on the single chair in the room and sauntered to the window, arms crossed. Resting her head against the cool glass, she took in the parking lot beneath her.

  Did Duke have a better view? If he’d taken the stairs, his room was probably located on the lower floors. The hotel had just five. Who was she kidding? Duke could run up five flights of stairs without breaking a sweat or gasping for breath. The man was a stud, but not the overly muscled kind. He had the long, lean body of a runner.

  She banged her head against the window. No point in letting her thoughts stray in that direction. He’d been concerned about her tonight, but that could just be because he wanted her out of the picture.

  Little did he know, she had more at stake here than good ratings.

  She could tell him, confess everything...well, almost everything. He already knew that she’d been adopted and hadn’t been able to locate her birth parents. If she explained to him her suspicions about being Heather Brice, maybe he could help her. Maybe he’d share the case files with her.

  She pivoted away from the window. If she told him that now, he’d suspect her of spinning a tale to get her hands on the information he had. She wouldn’t go down that road with him again.

  Sighing, she swept the remote control from the credenza and aimed it at the TV, turning it on.

  With the local TV news blaring in the background, she got ready for bed. Snug in a new pair of flannel pajamas she’d bought for the trip, she perched on the edge of the bed to watch the news. She hadn’t made the local news—not yet.

  She switched the channel to a sitcom rerun and flipped back the covers on her bed. Her heart slammed against her chest and she jerked back as she stared at the head of the Libby Love frog positioned on the white sheet, his miner’s hat at a jaunty angle.