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“The kid will probably barf in the suitcase, but at least he knows to hustle.” Kobrinsky nudged her shoulder. “What?”
She had a hunch, but wasn’t sure she could articulate it.
Kenna stepped off the porch and tried to figure out a direction to go. Toward whatever was giving her this odd feeling. She scanned the street. Marion lived at the end of a cul-de-sac, her neighbors a quarter mile up the road behind their fences.
Movement shifted between two trees to the west. She spotted a flash.A camera.Kenna took off running that direction, sliding out her weapon and flicking off the safety with her thumb.
She raced toward the trees, desperate to catch whoever had been watching her.It’s about time.If it was the Walker or an associate, she wanted to know. Then she would catchanother serial killer. Everything from her time in Mexico would be settled and she would finally be able to move on.
Kenna raced between two trees, trying to see where the flash of movement had gone.
Someone tackled her from the side, which felt like getting sideswiped by a Mack truck. She slammed onto the ground, and her head hit something unyielding.
Everything went black.
Chapter Ten
The door opened.
Kenna didn’t open her eyes, even if she was trying not to black out again.
“Here.” Something cold touched her hand.
She took the ice pack, surprised it was the sheriff who gave it to her.
Kenna sat up on the couch in his office, then winced as pain roiled through her head. “I can’t believe he got the jump on me.”
Sheriff Gingrich settled on the edge of the desk. “By all accounts you tore off after him. And you’re surprised he jumped you?”
“I’m not a rookie. I know what I’m doing.” She held the ice pack against the side of her head where she’d apparently hit a rock. Thankfully, it wasn’t worse than a bad bump.
“I caution my rookies not to hurry into any situation. I’d think your FBI background at least would’ve taught you the same. If not the rest of your history.”
“I can’t usually wait for backup. There often isn’t anyone to wait for.” She leaned back against the couch so she couldlook at him without craning her neck. “I’m accustomed to being out there on my own.”
Gingrich studied her. “Careful, your jadedness is showing.”
He wasn’t going to admit she achieved a good deal by herself. Of course not. Because that would only highlight what he hadn’t been able to do here. Plus the fact a sheriff would never admit that a private investigator might have a valuable role to play in law enforcement.
She frowned. “Just running on the welcome I usually get.”
“With no exceptions?”
“The exceptions are dead.” Like the sheriff in Northern California who had known her father.
There were no memories in this part of Wisconsin. She’d never been here with her father, even if her dad had met Forrest here. This man didn’t know her dad when he’d been alive, as far as she knew. It was only Forrest who had been mentored by him some when she’d been a young writer.
“You’re drifting.” The sheriff poured himself a drink that definitely wasn’t coffee. “Want something strong?”
“No, thank you.” She’d never liked the feeling of being out of control, and she quit drinking after college.
He dragged over a chair and sat, crossing one leg over the other knee. The door opened, and Deputy Kobrinsky hobbled in on his crutches.
Kenna announced, “The man of the hour.”
Sheriff Gingrich glanced at her, one eyebrow raised.
Kenna closed her mouth.