The Girl Who Cried Murder

He returned to his truck, wondering if Feeney would bother to get back to him. Probably not.

Mike would just have to follow up later.

He called Heller and told him about Feeney’s no-show. “The girl at campaign headquarters said he was called away, but I have to wonder if that wasn’t just an excuse to blow off the appointment.”

“Maybe Feeney agreed to meet with you before he had a chance to talk to Craig Bearden.”

“And then Bearden told him to cancel?”

“Politicians are careful to control the message,” Heller said. “He may want to know more about you before his people answer your questions.”

“I left my card. It’ll tell him my name and who I work for.”

“That might make it less likely he’ll talk to you, not more,” Heller warned. “What are you doing next?”

“I’m not going to quit, if that’s what you’re asking.” Mike had a feeling Heller—and maybe Quinn and Cameron, too—had been testing him with this impromptu investigation at first. He suspected they hadn’t been all that interested in finding out why Charlie Winters had decided to take his self-defense class. They were more interested in seeing how well Mike was able to investigate Charlie and her motives.

But that had been before someone had cut Charlie’s brakes.

“By the way, Strong, Cameron wants a word with you tomorrow after your afternoon class. Can you drop by her office around five?”

“I’ll be there.” He ended the call and opened the calendar app to jot down the details of his appointment with Rebecca Cameron. Heller was an old friend from the Marine Corps, and Alexander Quinn, the wily spymaster who had been a legend during his time in the CIA, had crossed Mike’s path from time to time during his tours of duty. But Cameron, a former diplomat, was a virtual stranger. She’d been an assistant to the American ambassador in Kaziristan during Mike’s two years in that war-troubled country. But he’d met her only once, briefly, under difficult circumstances.

Why did she want to talk to him now? Was it something to do with what happened to Charlie?

* * *

THURSDAY AFTERNOON WAS cold and rainy, the mild warm snap of the first part of the week long gone. Forecasters were even talking about sleet and snow flurries for the weekend, driving out the last of Charlie’s doubts about the wisdom of catching a ride with Mike to Campbell Cove Academy.

He arrived a half hour early, as promised. She thwarted any chivalrous instinct he might have had about getting out of the truck in the downpour by racing out the door the minute she heard the truck. Darting through the rain, she hauled herself into the passenger seat and turned to him with a laugh. “I now officially think catching a ride with you was a great idea.”

He smiled back at her. “I thought you might.”

“So, mind giving me a sneak preview of what we’ll be doing in class today?” She shook the rain out of her hair and buckled in.

“The first part of the class won’t be any different from what we’ve been doing in the beginner’s class. Stretching is stretching.”

“But afterward?”

He just smiled. “You’ll see.”

Even though Mike was able to find a parking place close to the gym entrance, they still were mostly drenched by the time they burst through the doors. Charlie ran her fingers through her wet hair, attempting to tame the curls trying to burst out all over. She could tell by Mike’s amused glance that it was a lost cause.

“You can wait in the gym if you like. I’ve got a little paperwork to tackle in my office and a couple of phone calls to make before class. It would only bore you.”

“That’s fine.” She gave a little wave as he walked out the side door of the gymnasium, quelling the urge to follow him.

She had done most of her stretching exercises by the time some of her other classmates started to drift into the gym. They greeted her with nods in the normal way of strangers thrown together by circumstance and, as she didn’t encourage any further conversation, most settled in a few feet away on the floor mats to follow her lead and do their stretches.

By five minutes until class time, seven other students had entered, almost all of them male. She was also pretty sure most if not all of them were cops or some sort of law enforcement officers. Nobody survived life in her neck of the Kentucky woods without developing the ability to pick out a police officer in a crowd.

As she pushed to her feet, the door from outside opened, and one more student entered the gym, stopping in the doorway to survey the room, as if he expected trouble to break out any second.

His gaze locked with Charlie’s, and she swallowed a groan.

Of all the people to run into here at the Campbell Cove Academy...

The newcomer was tall and well built, with broad shoulders and a lean waist that hadn’t gained any padding since the last time Charlie had seen him almost ten years ago. His gray eyes were hard but sharp, like chips of flint, and his lips curved in a thin smile as he approached the mat where she stood.

“Well, if it isn’t Charlotte Winters.”

She hid her dismay with a smart-alecky grin in return. “Well, if it isn’t Deputy Trask.”

Archer Trask’s smile widened, without a hint of humor making it anywhere near his eyes. “Have you woken up wasted in your backyard lately?”

Across the gym, the side door opened and Mike Strong walked through, his pace full of energy and purpose. His hair had dried during the time he’d spent in his office. In fact, he looked far more unruffled and put together than she felt at the moment.

Charlie turned away from Trask and moved closer to the other cops in the room. At least none of them looked familiar.

“Five more minutes,” Mike called, taking his place at the front of the gym. He gave a little wave of his hand, and the rest of the class continued their stretching exercises.

Charlie continued with her stretches as well, hoping Archer Trask would go somewhere else and leave her alone.

In that, she was disappointed.

“So, how’d you end up here?” Trask’s voice was deceptively casual.

“Here as in Campbell Cove?”

“No, here as in a self-defense course. Picked up a stalker or something?”

Charlie slanted a look at him, wondering for a moment if he’d heard about what happened to her car the previous day. “Only you, apparently.”

“I heard you had a car accident yesterday.”

So he had heard. “Is that the sort of thing people in your department investigate, Deputy Trask?”

“Not drinking that early, were you?”

She shot him a glare. “Go to hell.”

“Something wrong here?”

At the sound of Mike’s voice, both Charlie and Trask took a step back.

“Not a thing,” Trask said, wandering away.

Mike moved closer to Charlie. “You look angry.”