Blake turned stiffly back to the wheel and angled the truck onto the road. The realization was a load of bricks dumped over him. Marissa’s dad couldn’t have been more wrong. Her presence wasn’t compromising Blake’s investigation. Meeting her had compromised him.
* * *
MARISSA GAWKED AT the line of people extended along the front of the sheriff’s department.
Blake parked on the sidewalk outside the crowded lot. He circled the truck and opened the passenger door for her.
“Are these all volunteers?” she asked.
“Sadly, no.” He offered her a hand out of the vehicle, then closed the door behind her. “Those are all witnesses.” The sour look on his face said he didn’t believe half of them had witnessed anything other than the morning newscast. “Excuse us,” he said, escorting Marissa inside.
As promised, a gaggle of women her mom’s age filled the seats at a row of newly erected tables near the far wall. Old-fashioned telephones with landlines had been set up in front of each seat like a telethon. “Is that your mom’s quilting crew?”
He gave the group a peculiar look. “None other.”
A pair of Shadow Point deputies conducted interviews at their desks, while an agent with a clipboard spoke to the next person in line.
Marissa looked to Blake. “Are all these people good news or bad?” It seemed the verdict could go either way.
Blake rubbed the stubble on his chin. “A little of both, I guess. Good news is that we know the newscast made an impression. Bad news is we have to sift through all the chaff to find the wheat, if there is any, and then hope we aren’t too late to act on the intel.”
Marissa’s muscles tightened and her throat clogged at the implication. “I see.”
Blake’s hand found the small of her waist. He tipped his head downward, forming a private conversation space. “Hey. I didn’t mean too late for Kara. I meant that if it takes us too long to learn Nash’s whereabouts, and he moves on, then even the good information is still useless, and the efforts here are in vain. Timing’s everything in cases like these.”
Marissa smoothed sweat-slicked palms against her jeans. “Where should I sit?”
“Break room?” He lifted his brows in question.
Marissa cocked her head back. “If the local quilting crew can take calls, I can talk to the people in line. I know what he looks like. I’ll know if someone really saw him.”
Blake hunched lower into their private cocoon. His fingers relaxed, settling into the curve of her hip. “Listening to false reports can be infuriating. You don’t have to put yourself through any unnecessary ordeals. You’ve already done more than anyone expected.” His voice was low and careful, evidently meant to protect her from potential trauma.
She formed her most pleading expression and matched his cautious tone. “You just said timing is everything, and I can help you get through this line of people waiting to be heard.” Blake had made it clear that his job was to protect her, but her job was to protect Kara, and if listening to some cuckoo stories was the fastest way to get the facts, then that’s what she would do.
Blake didn’t answer. Instead, the two of them locked determined gazes.
“Hello.” A woman’s voice sounded nearby, and a shadow fell over them.
Blake turned his eyes on her without relaxing his stance. Mixed emotions flitted over his handsome face before he straightened. “Mama.”
The woman’s attention darted from her son’s face to his hand on Marissa. “This must be Miss Lane.” She squinted at the marks on Marissa’s face before settling into a small smile. “I’ve heard a lot about you today. You’re in good hands, now. I promise.”
Blake dropped his hand away and rolled his shoulders back.
Marissa offered his mother a hand to shake. “It’s nice to meet you. I hope Blake’s said nice things.”
“I haven’t heard a thing from Blake.” She gave him a curious look as she took Marissa’s hand. “I’ve spoken to West, Cole and their father, but not Blake.”
Marissa ignored the senseless tug of disappointment. Of course Blake hadn’t rushed to call his mom and tell her all about her. This was business for him. Marissa, on the other hand, had too many emotions and not enough sleep.
Blake’s chest expanded and fell in a silent sigh. “I’ve meant to call. I’ve had my hands full.”
“Yes, I saw.” She smiled warmly at Marissa. “Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?”
“I’m fine.” She pushed her hand into her pocket hoping it wasn’t too clammy during the shake. “I was just asking Blake where I should sit to help with witness statements.”
A mix of surprise and pleasure flitted over his mother’s face. She turned mischievous eyes on Blake. “Why don’t I show her to the community bulletin table? No one’s using that space.” She started toward the far wall and motioned them to follow.
They stopped at a four-foot folding table. Blake stacked the piles of community event flyers in a heap and moved them to the center. He released a sharp whistle, and Marissa flinched.
A passing deputy stopped to look their way.
“Can I get two chairs over here?” Blake asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Blake rested his fists on the wobbly structure. “This will work. I’ll take one end and review reports while you talk to witnesses on the other.”
Blake’s mom shot him a look and returned to the table lined with middle-aged women and ringing phones.
“Great.” Marissa fought a wave of nausea. She even needed a protective detail inside the sheriff’s department. She was in so much danger that she was being escorted around town by a federal agent. Her breaths came short and hot.
“Marissa?” The warmth
