“And the fortunate-timing thing?”
“Luck happens, Jasmine.” He kept an eye on the rearview mirror. “I wasn’t sent, although I did talk to Ballard’s replacement. She’s one of several cops being pressured about the validity of the coroner’s report regarding one Malcolm Wainwright.”
“Captain Ballard swore Wainwright died in that crash.”
“Yes, but Gus Ballard’s not here to stand by his conviction, and there are seven unexplained murders on the books.”
Since she couldn’t really argue, Jasmine moved on. “How did you know Daniel called me?”
“I didn’t. You just assumed.”
“But you knew he was in trouble.”
“At the risk of sounding uncoplike, duh.”
She slit her eyes at him. “How did you know he was in Raven’s Cove? Only his contact and one other person were supposed to possess that information.”
The grin hovering on his lips widened. “Ta-da.”
She hissed out her frustration. “I’ve got to stop being surprised. Okay, obvious next question. Why you?”
“Someone had to be the other. Better a mobile cop than not. In any case, with Wainwright’s now-alleged death, Ballard’s unswerving belief in it, plus a number of interdepartmental cost cuts, Daniel’s security-risk factor’s been dropped. He’s still officially in the program, but accessing his peripheral information isn’t as difficult as some of us think it should be.”
“In other words, money’s tight, something had to give and Daniel lost the coin toss.”
“Pretty much sums it up.”
“So you’re aware that Daniel’s contact is missing.”
“Yeah, I’m aware.”
“Is that why you showed up in Salem early? You were checking on him?”
Rogan squinted upward as the rain swept over them in sheets. “If I tell you Daniel’s contact lives in South Carolina, will that set off a whole new round of questions?”
“Maybe.” Leaning back, she studied him. “I’m not sure I trust you as a cop to tell me the absolute truth.”
“Probably a wise precaution given that we seldom tell it.”
That remark shouldn’t sting, but she knew she might have made another invalid assumption six weeks ago. He’d told her he cared, that he had feelings for her he’d never had for anyone else. Then he’d vanished.
From the driver’s seat, he slanted her an assessing look. “Are we done with the Q and A portion of our trip?”
“I’ll let you know when my head stops spinning and my thoughts make some kind of sense. I was planning to visit my mother in Washington next weekend, did you know that? She says the Olympic Mountains are beautiful in October.”
“They’re beautiful any time of year, and how would I know what your long-weekend plans were?”
“So you can’t read minds then.”
“Depends whose mind we’re talking about. I know you’re worried.”
“And here I thought I was hiding it so well.” She brought her gaze back to his face. “It was supposed to be done, Rogan, at least as done as it could be. Everyone except Daniel could go back to their lives. You, me, the cops from the safe house.” Curiosity sidetracked her. “How are they, by the way? I talked to Costello at the funeral. He said he took an early retirement and moved to Stockton.”
“Unfortunately, golfing and gardening can’t always fill the void in a cop’s life.”
“He could become a P.I.”
“I’ll mention that next time I see him. As for the others, Boxman’s taking a hiatus. He cited burnout coupled with a messy divorce as his reasons. Carla Prewitt’s on maternity leave, and Victor Bowcott’s thinking about transferring from San Diego to Buffalo, New York.”
“Victor…to Buffalo?” She stared, incredulous. “Why?”
“He didn’t say. Problem with Buffalo?”
“No, but come on, Rogan, Victor’s all about warm winters, not frigid ones.”
“Yeah? Interesting you’d know that.”
“What, you didn’t?”
“I’m not as well acquainted with him as you appear to be.”
She twirled a finger. “We lived together, remember? You, me, him and the others, for a month. Of course, it would have been longer in your case if you’d been there from the start like the rest of us were.”
“I came when the situation heated up and when the assignment I’d been working on prior to the heating ended.”
She let her mind slide back and amusement spike. “I honestly thought somebody’d messed up, that one of Wainwright’s henchmen had crashed our gruesome little party. One of his crazy, high-on-crack, South American mercenary henchmen. If Costello hadn’t recognized you, I might have tried to stab you with a kitchen knife. Oh, but that wouldn’t have worked, would it, because you never expose your back. To anyone.”
As the streaming rain turned into a near waterfall, Rogan switched the wipers on high. “Deal with the criminal element long enough, you’ll discover there’s always someone behind you. The trick is to make sure he or she doesn’t get a clear shot.”
Jasmine figured he’d mastered that trick in spades. Ballard had told her that Rogan appeared on scene whenever the danger peaked. After that, there were only two ways he’d leave. When the danger ended, or he was dead.
Determined not to dwell, she contemplated the barely visible road ahead. Then did a double take as she spotted the blurred headlights of an oncoming vehicle.
Unless the rain was distorting her vision, the driver had swerved over the centerline. And was headed straight for them.
Chapter Four
“I’m so sorry. Really, so very sorry. Don’t know how she got away from me like that.”
The driver, a fifty-something man in a wrinkled business suit, looked more baffled than shaken. He also smelled like a brewery. His female passenger remained in the car, arms tightly folded, eyes pointed straight ahead, tight skirt riding high on stockinged legs.
You just never know how a night might go, Jasmine thought with mild sympathy as the newly arrived highway patrol officers approached the woman.
Rogan had avoided both the head-on collision and the power pole that had appeared out of nowhere. The man in the silver Subaru hadn’t been so lucky. He’d sideswiped a tree, done a wobbly one-eighty and smashed the front end of his car into the pole’s now-dented base. All in all, the incident had cost them an hour and given Jasmine much more time to think than could possibly be good.
Not that her thoughts followed any kind of logical path, but then, considering the raven’s feather she’d received, she might have to get used to that.
With her coat and hair dripping, she headed back to the truck, tried Daniel’s number again and wound up tossing her phone on the dash.
“I sense irritation.” At a wave from the patrolman, Rogan got in next to her and swung his truck back onto the river that was the interstate. “Want to clue me in?”
Like the woman in the other car, Jasmine folded her arms and stared through the windshield. “Daniel did this kind of thing the whole time we were married, all two and a half years of it. He’d call me from wherever he happened to be, freak me out with stories about subversive activities, riots, roadside bombings or some