“That’s right.” She braced for a change of heart. Some men didn’t like being guided by women.
“Do I need to bring my own tackle?”
She relaxed. Apparently, Mr. Lassiter wasn’t one of those men. “Not unless you want to. We provide all the tackle and gear as part of the service.” She named a price. “That will get you a full day on the lake. Half a day, half price. You pay up front at the bait shop by the docks. I’ll be here when you arrive.”
“Let’s go with half a day. I’m betting we can get the job done by then,” Lassiter said. “I didn’t get your name-”
“Cooper. Hannah Cooper.”
“I look forward to fishing with you, Ms. Cooper. I’ll see you at six-thirty.” Lassiter rang off, and Hannah wrote the appointment down in the book.
As she finished locking up the office, she found herself looking forward to getting back on the lake. If anything could take her mind off Riley Patterson and Wyoming, it was a day of crappie fishing on Gossamer Lake.
HE HUNG UP THE PAY PHONE outside a store within sight of the Metro Riverfront Park. The late afternoon was pleasantly mild for October; he was glad he’d thought to pack clothes for a warmer climate. Around him, locals and tourists mingled along the city sidewalks, heading for their cars parked along the busy streets or for the bus stop near the river.
Nobody gave him a second look, which was why he’d chosen this place, miles from his motel room, to make his call to the Cooper Cove Marina.
Hearing her voice had been an electric shock to his system. The week he’d given her to relax her guard had been harder on him than he’d realized. While he prided himself on his self-control, he’d never really been one to deny himself necessary pleasures.
And seeing Hannah Cooper again would be a pleasure, indeed.
Chapter Sixteen
Saturday morning turned out to be sunny and mild, warm for mid-October. Hannah would have preferred to be out on the lake by sunrise, but today she was on the clock for a paying client, so she played by his rules.
She brewed a pot of coffee at home and poured it into a sturdy thermos in case the client needed a little caffeine to get him going in the morning. She’d packed her boat with all the necessary rods and tackle the night before, and her father had culled out four dozen minnows, ready to stow in the boat’s bait well in case the client wanted to fish with live bait.
Her parents were already at work at the bait shop when she arrived. “Are you sure you want to take this one by yourself?” her father asked her, worry in his eyes. “It’s so soon after-”
“It’s a fishing trip. I’ve been doing these by myself for years,” she assured him, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek. He smelled like Old Spice and mint toothpaste, the scents familiar and comforting, reminding her that she was safely home, surrounded by a loving, fiercely protective family.
“I went ahead and put the minnows in the bait well for you,” he said. “And J.D. gassed it up for you last night, so you should be ready to go.”
Car headlights sliced through the early-morning gloom outside the bait shop.
“Must be your client,” her mother said.
Anxiety slithered through her belly at the sound of footsteps crunching the gravel outside. She wrestled it into submission and pasted a welcoming smile on her face as the sandy-haired man in his early thirties entered the bait shop and flashed them a friendly smile.
“Ms. Cooper?” The man held out his hand. “Ken Lassiter.”
She shook his hand firmly. “Good morning, Mr. Lassiter.”
“Ken, please. I can call you Hannah?”
“Of course.” She walked around the counter to the cash register. “We can take all major credit cards, or cash. We don’t take checks from out of state.”
“Cash is fine.” Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a folded stack of bills and placed them on the counter. Hannah rang up the service and thanked him.
“How long have you been guiding?” he asked once they had boarded her small, sleek Triton TC 17 and settled in for the ride across the lake to one of her favorite fall crappie spots.
“Since I got my boating license about twelve years ago,” she answered, raising her voice above the roar of the Mercury outboard. “I grew up on the lake, so I’ve been fishing since I could hold a cane pole.”
Ken flashed her a quick smile, then looked back out over the lake. “Quiet this morning.”
“A lot of the boats are already out this time of day.”
“Are we going to be rubbing elbows with a lot of other fishermen, then?” he asked, looking a little disappointed.
“Not where I’m taking you,” she assured him.
The wind was brisk and cool as they skimmed the green waters of Gossamer Lake, but she knew it would warm up once they dropped anchor and started trolling for the quirky little speckled-white fish they were after this morning. Meanwhile, the loamy smell of the lake and the rosy glow of the morning sky gave her a giddy feeling of well-being, the first glimpse of her normal self since she returned home from Wyoming.
She should have come out fishing sooner. It had always been her favorite way of centering her world.
Maybe she’d get Riley Patterson out of her heart yet.
RILEY’S CELL PHONE RANG around 7:00 a.m., while he was in the motel bathroom about to shave. He fished the phone out of the pocket of his jeans. It was Joe’s cell number. “Yeah?”
“Where are you?” The tension in Joe’s voice set Riley’s nerves immediately on edge.
“Budget Suites Motel in Birmingham.” He headed out of the bathroom, shaving forgotten. “What’s going on?”
“How long will it take you to get to Gossamer Ridge?”
“Hour and a half, I think-what’s going on?”
The brief pause on the other end of the line made Riley’s empty stomach cramp. It was almost a relief when Joe spoke. “I think we’ve found the killer.”
Riley dropped heavily on to the bed. “Who?”
“Guy named Kyle Layton. Six-one, early thirties, sandy-blond hair, gray eyes. A security guard at Memorial Hospital.”
“Someone recognized the ring,” Riley guessed.
“He wears it on his left pinky finger, like Hannah said.”
“Can we connect him to our other cases?”
“We can connect him to at least one, I’m pretty sure,” Joe answered grimly. “He was working as a prison guard in the Casper area when Emily was killed. He was one of the ones in charge of taking prisoners to the hospital where she worked when they couldn’t handle their injuries or illnesses at the prison infirmary.”
“Son of a bitch.” Riley curled his hand into a fist as bleak rage poured into his gut like acid. “Tell me you have him in custody, Joe.”
“He boarded a plane out of Casper yesterday morning around 9:00 a.m.,” Joe answered. “Headed for Nashville, Tennessee.”
“Tennessee?” It took a moment for Riley to get it. “Oh, hell.”
“It’s less than a three-hour drive to Gossamer Ridge. We’ve been able to ascertain that he spent the night at the motel in Nashville, but none of the staff has seen him this morning, and he’s not in his room.”
Riley lurched off the bed, swiping his keys and his holstered Ruger off the dresser. He shrugged on his jacket, snapped the holster to the waistband of his jeans and grabbed his hat on his way out the door. He took the steps down to the rental car two at a time. “I need you to get the Chickasaw County Sheriff’s Department on the phone. Ask for-” He grimaced. What the hell was the brother’s name? “Ask for a Cooper. I can’t remember the name.”
“I’m on it.”
“If you get him, tell him to find his sister and keep her in one place until I can get there. And give him my cell number.” Riley rang off and jerked the rental car into gear, startling a maintenance staffer who was out picking up
