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“Have you ever met this guy?”
She knew where this was going and grimaced. “No, but Lachlan mentioned him once.”
Emily snorted in her ear. “Tell him you’ll only meet in a public place. I’ll come with you.”
“I tried that.” She flopped into her chair and leaned back to stare at the ceiling. “He said he couldn’t show me the information in public.” Straightening, she opened her work calendar on her computer. “I’m leaving as soon as I think up a good excuse for being out of the office.”
“Are you crazy?” Sophia moved the phone away from her ear at Emily’s screech. “You’re not going alone.”
The calm Sophia forced into her voice didn’t match the tightness in her chest. “I’m sure he’s who he says he is. He knew something about Lachlan and me that only Lachlan could have told him.”
“Sophia, I don’t—”
“His name is Nathan Long. He’s a SEAL, or at least was, which means your dad could run a check on him. I’ll give you his address. Send in the cavalry if you don’t hear from me in two hours.”
“Sure, of course, you could be dead by then,” Emily grumbled. “Be careful. Even though you believe Lachlan was set up, we don’t know who’s a good guy or a bad guy yet.”
“I will.” She recited Nathan’s address to Emily and hung up. Her attempt to get more information from Fred and Lachlan’s files had been a bust. Maybe Nathan knew something that would prove useful to clearing Lachlan’s name and finding the person behind his murder.
An hour later, she veered onto Hampton Road in Fairfax Station, tapping out an anxious rhythm on the steering wheel.
Following Nathan’s directions, she took a left at the second side street, then a right. Tall trees bordered a narrow gravel road. She braked to a stop in front of a steel security gate anchored between two brick columns flanking the driveway to what must be Nathan’s home. Compound was more like it. A foreboding red light blinked like an omen from the security camera angled straight at her face.
No Trespassing signs dotted the tree line. These ones featured crosshairs with the words,You are here,in the center.
The trailer from every horror movie featuring a cabin in the woods flashed behind Sophia’s eyes. Emily was right. This was a bad idea.
The steel gate rattled open.
If she was going to back out, now was the time. She swallowed hard and maneuvered her car forward. The gate shut behind her with a clang, like prison bars trapping her on the wrong side of freedom. Another sign posted around the bend warned her she was no longer a trespasser but a target. Trees lining the gravel road loomed overhead and blocked the sun.
The driveway ended at a tan, ranch-style brick home with a two-car garage that looked to be a later addition. A man seated in an Adirondack chair on a white-trimmed chair rail front porch rose to his feet and ambled down the steps toward her.
Her jaw dropped. The man was massive—even taller than Lachlan and more muscular. He had on a form-fitting black t-shirt with a skull graphic and the wordsGod Will Judge Our Enemies—We’ll Arrange the Meeting. The outfit, combined with his short, dirty-blond hair and the light brown stubble below his cheeks, made him look like a member of an outlaw biker gang.
She stepped reluctantly from the car, clutching the driver’s door to her front like a shield even as her inner voice screamed to jump back in and lock the doors.
“Hello, darlin’.” The scary stranger grinned, showing straight, white teeth. He plucked her fingers from their grip on the car door and kissed the back of her knuckles. Striking crystal blue eyes twinkled over their joined hands.
She forgot to breathe for a different reason now. The smile transformed his ruthless features, making him appear more like a Hemsworth brother—a taller, rougher version of Thor. He let go of her hand, and she sagged from the sudden letdown of adrenaline.
His eyes narrowed on her. “You all right?”
Her nod was a little too vigorous. “Fine, I’m fine.”Now that I’m pretty sure I’m not going to die.
“I’m Nathan, by the way.” He motioned her toward the house.
She preceded him up the four steps onto the porch and through a blue-gray front door into a surprisingly cozy if dated, kitchen and breakfast nook containing an oval-shaped table and four ladderback chairs beneath a bay window. The kitchen opened to a sunken living room with a brick fireplace and a sliding glass door that led to a back deck.
The oil painting over the mantle was striking—a lone cowboy on horseback, surrounded by cattle, facing the deep russet ball intersecting the distant horizon. She brushed past the leather sofa to get a closer look.
Between Nathan Long’s accent and décor, she’d bet money he was a product of the Lone Star state.
“Can I get you something to drink?” Nathan called from the kitchen.
“Some water would be nice, thank you. Then you can tell me why you needed me to come here.”
“Leannan.”