Lone Witness. Shirlee McCoy

he prodded. “Did you notice anything about the interior that might help us?”

      “I was a little too busy trying to figure out how to save myself and Everly to worry about the color of the seats or the vehicle identification number, Agent Miller.”

      “Call me Henry. Most people who save my daughter’s life do.”

      “Do your daughters often need saving?” she asked, and he smiled.

      “This is the first and, hopefully, last time.”

      “I’m glad I was in the right place at the right time,” she murmured, still refusing to look away from his unwavering gaze.

      He had blue-gray eyes that reminded her of the fog that had often rolled across the vineyards in Napa Valley. She had liked to sit and watch it as the sun rose, wishing and hoping for changes that never came. Sometimes praying the way Hester had taught her, but never believing that God would hear the cries of a woman who had wandered so far from His truth.

      It had taken many years and thousands of miles for her to understand the truth of God’s love and forgiveness.

      “We’re all glad you were,” the chief interjected, and she allowed herself to finally look away from Henry.

      “You’re a newcomer to Provincetown,” the chief continued.

      “I’ve been here for three years. That’s not so new.”

      “You weren’t raised here, is what I mean,” he amended. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t think of you as part of the community. Your well-being during this investigation is paramount. Once you return home, I’ll have patrols ride past your house every few hours.”

      “He wasn’t trying to kidnap me, Chief Simpson. He was after Everly.”

      “Everly didn’t see his face. You did,” the chief responded, the words chilling. She hadn’t thought about what it meant to be the sole witness to a kidnapping attempt or to be the key witness in a crime that could put someone in jail for a very long time. She’d been too busy worrying about the past to think about the very clear and present danger she might be in.

      “Do you really think he will come after me?” she asked.

      “If I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t. I’d leave Provincetown and never return.”

      “You’re assuming he’s not from the area,” Kayla said.

      The chief frowned. “I’m not assuming anything, officer. I’m saying that if I were in his shoes, I’d leave town and never return. I have no real idea what he might do. If I could figure out the minds of criminals, I’d be able to stop a lot of terrible things before they happened. I need to get back to town. The state police are bringing in their evidence team, and I’d like to be there when they arrive. Officer Delphina, you are to take station outside the door. Don’t let anyone in who isn’t on the list.”

      He strode into the hall, and Kayla and Officer Mitchel followed close behind.

      That left Tessa and Henry.

      Which shouldn’t have bothered her, but did.

      “Do you have more questions?” she asked, picking at the tape that held a bandage on her left knee in place. She had insisted on staying in her street clothes, and her black slacks were torn at both knees, the fabric ripped away to reveal pale skin. The chief had arrived with her purse and her cell phone. Both had survived their time in the street. Her coat had been taken for forensic testing. The police were hoping to find a hair from the kidnapper on it. Betty’s coat was lying across a table near the far wall.

      Focusing on those things did not keep her from noticing how quiet Henry had become. How still and watchful he was.

      He seemed to be waiting for something, and she had no idea what.

      She tore at the tape again, and he pulled her hand away.

      She winced, jerking back reflexively, her cheeks hot with embarrassment when she realized what she’d done.