“How can no one know this guy?” Kensie asked now, sounding as frustrated as she looked.
They’d spoken to half the store owners so far, plus a handful of locals braving the cold. The temperatures weren’t abnormal for this time of year—hovering around twenty degrees—but the windchill had been brutal all afternoon. He’d tugged up the collar of Kensie’s coat for her, but her cheeks were already windburned.
“Someone will know,” Colter promised.
It was clear Henry was trying to stay off people’s radar, and while locals embraced the idea of “live and let live,” they were also a wary bunch. You had to be, with people like Danny Weston trying to take advantage of that attitude.
So the locals might try to stay out of other people’s business, but a guy like Henry would have raised flags for someone. They just had to find the right person—the one who’d not only gotten suspicious but was also in a position to notice details about where he might be hiding out.
And Colter had an idea who that right person might be. He held open the door to a check-cashing place that looked like it had been built fifty years ago and never cleaned in all that time. It was crammed into a corner of the town, mostly hidden behind a grocery/hardware store, but that’s how the locals liked it—out of sight. And so did the people who frequented it. People who wanted as short a paper trail as possible, who didn’t believe in keeping their money in banks.
“Let’s try here,” he suggested.
Kensie gave him a doubtful look but preceded him into the store, Rebel on her heels.
“That dog better be a service dog,” the owner snapped. He was perpetually scowling, a guy who looked as unkempt and old as his store. But his eyes were sharp, zooming in on Colter’s side immediately as if he could tell Colter was carrying.
“One of the best,” Colter replied, purposely misunderstanding what the guy meant by “service.”
The owner—Yura something—screwed his lips up in a semiscowl, but his gaze drifted from Colter’s side to his cane and his dragging leg. “Yeah, okay. You looking to cash a check?”
“No, I’m looking for some information on someone who might have been in here.”
“Don’t give out information on my customers,” Yura said, turning his attention to the TV mounted in the corner, playing a soap opera on mute.
“We think he kidnapped my friend’s sister,” Colter said, nodding toward Kensie.
Yura narrowed his gaze on Kensie, then frowned harder at Colter. “What’s his name?”
“Henry Rollings.”
“Henry, huh?”
“You know him?” Kensie’s voice was full of hope as she leaned closer to Yura.
“Yeah,” Yura said slowly.
“What can you tell us about him?”
Yura stared so long at Colter that Colter thought he was going to have to ask again. Finally, Yura asked, “Why do you think he kidnapped this woman?”
“I saw her,” Kensie blurted. “I tried to follow them and then someone else got in my way and Henry drove off with her.”
Yura’s gaze shifted briefly to Kensie, then returned to Colter. “You were a Marine, huh?”
Colter wasn’t sure how Yura knew that, but he supposed it was a sign his instincts were correct—Yura noticed things about people. “That’s right.”
He nodded at Rebel. “Her, too?”
“Yes.”
“So was I. Long time ago.” Yura sighed heavily. “Henry’s a strange guy. Lot of the people who come in here are hiding from something. Not really my business what it is. But kidnapping a woman? You sure about that?”
“No,” Colter answered, sensing Yura would respond better to honesty. “But there’s a really good chance. And if he did take her, he knows that we know. So we don’t have long to find him.”
“Please,” Kensie said, her voice barely above a whisper. “If you can help us...”
Yura nodded. “Henry cashes checks in here sometimes. I think usually he gets paid in cash, but every once in a while he does odd jobs for a couple up north. Untrusting sort, the Altiers. They like to stay off the radar, too. They pay well but keep a couple of guns on hand and only pay by check. Say it’s a safety thing and I don’t blame them, the way they hire drifters. Plus, they’ve got a bunch of kids to think about.”
“Up north?” Colter asked. “Is that where Henry lives? Near this couple?”
Yura dug around under the counter and then dropped a piece of torn notebook paper on it. He sketched out a rough map, then turned it around for Colter to see. “You know where this is?”
Colter held in a curse. “Yeah, I think so.”
“I can’t be sure he lives up that way, but if I had to guess, this is what I’d pick. The couple he works for is here.” Yura tapped the hand-drawn map, marking a spot in the middle of nowhere. “No one lives within two miles of them. They’re seriously paranoid. But Henry’s come in here a half dozen times over the past few years with checks from them. My bet is he lives somewhere in this area, close enough that they feel comfortable hiring him repeatedly.”
“It’s out of the way,” Colter agreed. “Perfect for someone who wants to hide. And in the direction that the warehouse owner said he sometimes sees Henry go.”
“It’s not going to be an easy area to get into unnoticed.” Yura pushed the map toward him. “Semper Fi, brother.”
Hearing the words sent a jolt through Colter, part shock, part energizing. It had been a year since anyone had spoken them to him. “Semper Fi.”
“Thank you,” Kensie added as she trailed Colter out the door. “How long will it take us to get there?”
“We’re not going tonight.”
“What?” She slapped her hands on her hips, over the warm coat he’d forced her to buy the other day. “Why not?”
Even though he knew it was windburn, he liked the pink in her cheeks. It matched the fire in her eyes right now. But he wouldn’t let himself be swayed. He’d
