“Are you suggesting she was cheating on me?”
He lifted his hands. “Relax. I’m just exploring possibilities.”
“Well you can rule that out.”
Wilkerson sighed and pursed his lips together. “Look, does Dana have any friends in town? Anyone she might have gone to stay with?”
In that moment he couldn’t think straight. “Not that I know of.”
“Family? Co-worker?” Wilkerson probed.
“Her family’s gone. She’s a freelance writer. Most of the time she worked from home.”
“Most of the time?”
He lifted a hand and look absently around the room. “Occasionally she traveled.”
“OK. Anywhere in particular? What did she write about?”
“Travel, I guess.”
An eyebrow shot up. “You guess? You don’t know?”
“Look, she told me it was related to travel.”
Wilkerson nodded and studied him. “And what do you do, Mr. Winchester?”
Jack frowned. “What has that got to do with this?”
“Were you traveling for work?”
“No, I went to see an old friend. You want his number?” he said in a sarcastic tone. When he didn’t reply, Jack sighed. “I’m a handyman.”
“Really? That was a nice property you had. Big. Expensive. Not exactly the kind of real estate that’s funded by handyman earnings, if you don’t mind me saying.” He paused. “What’s the name of your company?”
“Don’t have a name. Word of mouth.”
Wilkerson frowned and cleared his throat as he leaned forward. “Forgive me but are you saying you managed to pay for that home doing odd jobs?”
“I inherited money.”
“Huh, must be nice.”
“Look, unless you have information about the whereabouts of Dana, or are willing to help me find her, I’m wasting my time.”
Jack turned and headed for the door.
“Mr. Winchester. Just a second.” He rose to his feet. “Can I get the name and number of your friend in L.A.?”
Jack stared back at him and frowned.
“Just procedure.”
He returned and took a pen from a holder and scribbled it on a sticky note and tossed the pen down.
“You got a place to stay tonight?” Wilkerson asked.
“I’ll get a room.”
“Look, um, do you have a photo of Dana?”
That’s when he realized he didn’t. Every photo they had was at the house or on a computer. He never used his phone because if any of his enemies tracked him down, he didn’t want to compromise Dana. Jack shook his head.
“Well, a description would do.”
Jack nodded, gave him the rundown of her hair, eye color and height, and then gave him a number for one of his burner phones.
Wilkerson shook the scrap of paper. “If anything comes up we’ll be in touch. Again, I’m sorry this has happened,” Wilkerson said in a tone as if he meant it. Jack nodded and headed into the corridor and looked back. Wilkerson stood by the door studying him.
Jack had a sense that Wilkerson didn’t believe a word.
He groaned. The last thing he needed was a cop looking into his background.
Outside he breathed in fresh mountain air like a man breaking the surface of water and gasping. None of it made sense. An electrical malfunction? Six days ago? No sign of Dana? However the questions from the cop had got him thinking. Dana was friendly with a few people in town, and in recent months she’d opted to write at a local coffee store but she’d never really mentioned anyone specific or invited a friend back. Though he did recall one person that came to mind.
Needing to catch a ride back to the house he headed northeast for the Phoenix Bean, the café Dana had frequented on a daily basis. Though he didn’t want to entertain the thought that someone else was behind this, he couldn’t rule it out, neither could he be sure that she hadn’t done this out of some emotional breakdown. Losing her son Jason had torn her apart. It had taken a good six months for her to even allow herself to smile without feeling guilty. Since then she’d been on an emotional roller coaster. One day she was fine, the next in tears, and it didn’t seem to matter what he did to help.
Jack felt a wave of anger. The old storm was building inside of him, raising its ugly head like a beast within. He was all too familiar with it, the part of him he’d shut off, the part of him that was cold, calculated and violent.
Images of what he’d do if anyone else were behind this played out in the theater of his mind. As he strolled the short distance through the town, he glanced up at the snow-capped mountains that loomed over. Even in the peak of summer, snow was visible. It was why he’d fallen in love with the area. It looked like a painting, twenty-four seven.
The Phoenix Bean was a historic structure sandwiched between the Sheridan lodge and a fly fishing store. A cozy-looking shack with a couple of tables outside, it had a warm red interior with leather booths along the walls, a retro-style jukebox at the rear and globe lights that hung low providing ambience. From the moment he stepped in, the owner, Cathy Michelson, eyed him. There was a long line of patrons waiting for coffee and several diners lingering over their food. The sound of chatter and cutlery clinking dominated. A strong smell of fresh bread and coffee was in the air. Jack cast a glance to the back of the room where he’d often found Dana working away in the late afternoon. She’d sit alone, tapping on her keyboard, a serious expression on her face until they locked eyes.
He saw it again in his mind.
A sharp ache in the pit of his stomach. He missed her smile.
She had to be around. This was all a big mistake. His mind flipped back and forth between the worst and the logical. He tried to convince himself that he’d soon discover that it was an accident and she was staying at a motel, or with a friend, and that there was a perfectly good reason why she hadn’t called him, and the next his mind would go to a dark place.
As Jack
