Chapter 32

After passing a fourth barely standingmatchbox-sized house on the narrow gravel mountain road, Kayla started reassessing her decision to join Ash while he interviewed the ex-con.

The vehicle’s GPS announced, “In one thousand feet, your destination will be on the left.”

Relief that they’d finally made it without any no-trespassing bullets zinging their way dissipated the moment she saw the large black and red BEWARE DOG sign at the foot of Grimball’s driveway.

Before parting ways with Mason, she’d grabbed her workout bag from the trunk of her vehicle. Even though she had an in-house gym, she kept a membership at her local YMCA. They had a larger variety of equipment and an enormous swimming pool. The Y was also a great meeting place for the community and a practical, yet strategic, way of monitoring the needs of everyone, not just her wealthy peers.

Now she wore running shoes, though she preferred not to have to test them against an angry dog.

Ash was constantly scanning the area, which only heightened her growing anxiety. “Do you have to do this often?” she asked in a near whisper.

“Only a couple times a day.”

“Not funny.”

“It’s not too late. I can drop you off at that antique mall you gushed over a few miles back, while I speak to Grimball.”

“I don’t gush, and no thank you.’’

“At least stay in the car.”

“And become dog bait?”

“It would increase my chances of getting to the front door with all my flesh attached.”

She backhanded his hard bicep, eliciting a full grin. After years of seeing nothing but scowls on his handsome face, it was disarming when snatches of humor appeared.

“What are the rules?” he asked, switching back to cop mode.

“We’ve been over them twice, already.”

“Third time’s a charm, right?”

“No talking, no emotion, no interruptions, no nothing.”

“Except?”

The words clutched at the back of her throat. “Do as you say, when you say it. No arguments, no negotiations.”

He nodded. The vehicle rolled to a stop, and Ash killed the engine. He didn’t say anything for several long seconds, while checking his rear- and sideview mirrors.

She realized he was waiting for the guard dog to appear. “Clear?” she asked.

Another nod. “The sign must be an empty deterrent.”

“Probably effective for sane people.”

He sent her a sideways glance. “Last chance.”

Pushing open her door, she said, “Let’s go, Special Agent.”

As they approached the sagging wooden porch, Kayla took in the graveyard of rusted-out vehicles, plastic jugs, crumpled beer cans, mangled kiddy pool, windowless camper with an oak tree growing out of one end, and two stocky painted horses eating the patches of grass growing around all the abandoned detritus.

Poverty was a disease in the United States. An epidemic. Thirty-eight million affected, according to the U.S. Census.

In her work as a lobbyist, Kayla had helped put forth several important bills that would raise the tide for all Americans. Not just those born into privilege, as she had been, or those with white skin or perfect vocabulary. But everyone who wanted to live their best life, however that looked.

Ash pointed for her to take up a position on the hinge side of the front door, while he stood on the opposite side, near the door handle. He rapped his knuckles hard on the door, whose white paint had aged into a moldy gray.

The sound seemed to thunder through the air. Kayla rotated her upper body, expecting the guard dog to shoot out of his resting place at hearing evidence of intruders. She caught a glimpse of something dark arrowing across the driveway, about three quarters of the way down.

Staring at the spot for several seconds, she tensed, waiting for more movement. When none materialized, she decided it must have been a wild animal. A black bear or maybe a fawn scampering after its mama. For some reason, the idea of a wild animal concerned her far less than a domestic guard dog.

Footsteps pounded through the interior of the house and a second later she heard the snick of a dead bolt retracting into its cave. Then another, and another.

The door cracked open, inch by slow inch, until an older man filled the space. He wore his iron-gray hair short, military-style. His bare, corded forearms sported tattoos that had dulled with time. His fit body filled up all the space in his green polo and cargo pants. She now knew how he’d spent his days in lockup.

In short, if this was Seb Grimball, he met none of her expectations as she’d approached the ramshackle house. He wore sixty-one well, even with the swollen nose and blackened eyes.

“Sebastian Grimball?” Ash asked.

“That’s right. Who’s calling?” He kept his right hand tucked behind his thigh.

“I’m going to reach into my jacket for my credentials.”

The grooves at the corners of the ex-con’s eyes deepened before he gave a sharp nod.

Ash fingered out a square-ish bifold wallet, opened it, and said, “I’m Special Agent Cameron Blackwell and this is my associate Kayla. We would like to ask you a few questions about the night of March twenty-first.”

Had Seb’s eyes flickered in recognition at the mention of her name?

“What about it?” Seb asked.

“May we come in? We won’t take up much of your time.”

The ex-con seemed to be mentally weighing his options. After a long, pregnant silence, he opened the door and stepped back.

Grimball warned, “I have a gun in my right hand?—”

The ex-con’s words cut off as the top of his head disappeared.