“In here,” she hollered and scrambled to her feet. She pulled the pry bar free from the inside door handles, leaning it against the wall in the corner.
She moved to the workbench—and the piece of paper she’d left lying on it. Frowning down at the words glued to the paper, she dropped onto the stool, her knees still a little shaky. Why couldn’t all of this diamond killer shit just blow away in the wind like the rest of the tumbleweeds around here?
The sitting-duck reality of her situation had hit Claire on what was supposed to be a quick trip to the tool shed to grab another set of clamps. When she’d caught sight of the envelope stuck under the windshield wiper of Gramps’s Winnebago, her head had started pounding again for a whole new reason. After she’d read what was inside the envelope, her heart had copycatted her head, thumping hard in her chest as the world closed in around her, making it hard to breathe.
She’d raced to the tool shed and shut herself inside, sliding a pry bar through the handles to be safe. Then she’d slid to the floor in the corner next to the workbench, panic squeezing her lungs as she stared at the doors, waiting for the killer to huff and puff and blow her tool shed down.
After a blur of moments with the only sounds outside of the shed coming in the form of throaty gurgles from a pair of ravens, calm and reason had returned to the helm and made the screaming broad who’d pirated her brain walk the plank. Claire’s breathing had returned to normal. The pounding in her head had eased, too, along with that of her heart. But she hadn’t reached the level of composure necessary to unbar the doors and step outside, returning to her role as sitting duck under the wide-open sky.
Now Mac was here, though. He’d make her feel better, and he’d know what to do about the damned note.
The hinges squeaked as one of the doors opened. Mac stepped inside, his brow creasing as he crossed the floor. “What are you doing in here with the doors shut?”
She held up the piece of paper. “Someone sent us another note.”
“Another?” Mac took the paper from her. “I have my eye on you,” he said, reading aloud the cut-out magazine letters. “Hmmm. Nice touch here.” He pointed at the picture of an actual person’s blue eye that was used in place of the word eye.
“Yeah, that visual ups the creepiness factor to a solid ten-point-oh in my book.”
She looked at him standing there in his khaki pants and a long-sleeve T-shirt that matched his hazel eyes. Earthy, level-headed, and rational, Mac was her rock island in the maelstrom of her life. What in the hell was she thinking, living two hours away from him day after day? She should have made him take that promotion, packed her bags, and gotten the hell out of Dodge.
And leave her family?
Maybe.
“What do you mean, another note?” Mac asked, frowning at her.
Claire sighed. “We got an anonymous letter like this one on Saturday. It was stuck under the Winnebago’s windshield wiper in an envelope with Ronnie’s name on it, just like this one was—only there was no name on the envelope this time.”
“What did the previous note say?”
“It read: You better watch your back.” She pointed at the paper in his hand. “The letters were also cut out from a magazine, just like this one, but there were no freaky pictures on it.”
“Christ, Claire.” He set the paper down on the workbench. “Why didn’t you tell me about the first one?”
She thought back to the day Natalie had brought them the envelope with Ronnie’s name on it. They’d been in the General Store talking about … “I forgot about it because Chester came into the store with that newspaper article about the diamond killer leaving those two night watchmen in the trunk of a car in Tucson.”
Mac searched her face for several seconds. Then he cursed under his breath. “Come here.” He pulled her into his arms. “You’re trembling. Tell me the truth,” he said as his lips brushed her temple. “Were you hiding in here?”
“Yes.” She buried her nose in the collar of his shirt, breathing in his warm desert scent that always helped to calm her. “The letter made me feel like the killer was here at the campground, toying with me. A fly trapped in his web.”
“Oh, Slugger.” He leaned back and cupped her face. “How do you feel about me borrowing Grady’s handcuffs and keeping you chained to me from now on?”
Her laugh was low and husky. “God, Mac. I’m so tired of waking up each day and wondering if it will be my last on earth.”
His hands slid to her shoulders, squeezing them. “You’re going to make it through this in one piece, Claire, especially now that Grady and his men have something of a description of the killer, thanks to Tank. Everyone is on high alert, including your family. Why do you think Chester or your grandfather sit and watch you work?”
“Because they’re bored and like to give me trouble.”
“Well, partly yes, but also because everyone is keeping an eye on you and Ronnie. Grady doesn’t want either of you two to be left alone, if possible. We’re all working together to stand guard until the threat of the killer is gone.” He kissed her forehead. “You aren’t even supposed to come back here alone.”
“Natalie went inside the house to get something to drink,” she explained. “I decided to make a quick trip to the tool shed in the golf cart while she was gone.”
“Where was Chester?”
“He and Coop’s uncle went in search of more cigars.”
“Are you carrying the mace I bought you?”
Claire nodded. “And the leather sap.”
“Good. Keep them in your tool belt at all times.”
Claire wrapped her arms around his neck. “I love you.”
“Of course you do,” he
