“I wish I could get ahold of Marcus.”
“Who’s Marcus?”
“Chloe’s cousin. He’s supposed to help.”
“Ma’am?”
“What?” She shot him a quick glance.
“Chloe...?”
“Mrs. McFadden,” she said. “You remember.”
Mrs. McFadden—sure, he knew her. She was on the development board and helped with fund-raising events. All roads to the money-laundering investigation led to Mrs. McFadden’s husband, Gary, but they didn’t have enough to build a case. They’d even considered that his wife might be involved.
“Matthew?” she said.
“Yes, ma’am?”
“What’s going on?”
“I’m having some...memory challenges.”
“Oh.”
He heard the disappointment in her voice, as if she’d been relying on him to protect her and the child. But that hadn’t been his assignment. His assignment was to work as a custodian in the foundation office, be invisible and gather information. Keep an eye on nighttime activity, determine if they were not only laundering money for the cartel but were also distributing drugs out of the community center.
“Blows to the head can do that,” she offered. “Don’t freak out. It’s usually temporary.”
“How would you know that?”
She shrugged. There was more to it, but she wasn’t sharing. Why would she? She was stuck with a helpless man and...a child.
“So, the child is Mrs. McFadden’s?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Where is Mrs. McFadden?”
She gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled fingers.
“Miss North?” he prompted.
“Jenna, call me Jenna,” she said, with slight irritation in her voice.
“Okay, Jenna. Why is Mrs. McFadden’s child in my truck?”
“She asked me to protect him.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Chief Billings killed Chloe,” she blurted out in a pained voice.
He glanced out the passenger window and fisted his hand to stop his fingers from trembling. Men like Matt didn’t tremble, and they didn’t let fear run rampant. Yet this was the first time he’d awakened with a chunk of his life missing, like it had never happened, and he was forced to rely on a stranger to fill in the blanks.
Well, not a complete stranger. He’d done a background check on all the foundation employees to help identify which ones were the most likely to be involved in the money-laundering activity. Matt still couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that all roads led to the small, quaint town of Cedar River, Montana, known for its world-class scones and snow sports, headquarters of the international and altruistic Broadlake Foundation.
His supervisor had gotten Matt a job as the night custodian, and during the day he continued surveillance at the hot spots in town. They suspected money was being filtered through the foundation in the form of donations, only they couldn’t determine who was orchestrating the mystery deposits into the accounts. Everyone had been suspect, even the town’s police chief, who was on the governing board.
If what Jenna said was true, it confirmed Chief Billings’s involvement. Matt didn’t remember seeing the murder, but Jenna had.
Which meant she was a key witness—and her life was in serious danger.
He’d always sensed wariness about Jenna, even though she covered it with a bright smile and polite manners. His job required him to pay attention to the little things, the way her shoulders jerked at unexpected sounds and how she’d clenched her jaw when a drunk, homeless man wandered into the center and refused to leave. Matt had come to her rescue that night, escorting him outside and waiting for Kyle to take the belligerent man into custody.
Something had happened to Jenna North that didn’t show up on a routine background check. Yet it seemed like she’d lived an unremarkable life before moving to Cedar River.
He tapped a closed fist against his knee. How could he remember details about Miss North’s background but couldn’t remember what happened to him in the past...what? How much time had he lost?
“Can you please tell me what happened tonight?” he said.
“What’s the last thing you remember?”
He closed his eyes. “The Avalanche were winning. I was in my office listening to the game.”
“You don’t remember Chloe screaming?”
“No, ma’am.”
“Or finding me outside with Eli?”
“No. I need to figure out how much time I’ve lost.”
She recounted what happened in the last hour, starting with her friend being strangled, Jenna asking Matt to drop her at the truck stop and then her coming to his rescue after he was assaulted in the parking lot.
“That’s pretty much it,” she said.
Not quite. “I left you at the truck stop when I knew you were in danger? That doesn’t sound like me.”
“A misunderstanding.” She hesitated. “I thought you were a serial killer.”
He shot her a look of disbelief.
“What? You had a gun, zip ties and duct tape in your glove box.”
“The gun and zip ties are for work. I used the duct tape to fix a broken hose.”
“Oh, okay. Sorry,” she said.
“Trusting doesn’t come easy for you, does it?”
“I trusted Chloe,” she said quietly.
Silence stretched between them.
“Why were you working undercover at the community center?” she asked.
How much should he tell her? He knew she needed enough information to make good decisions.
“We think a drug cartel is laundering money through the foundation,” he said. “By taking a job at the center and assimilating into the community, my goal was to discover who’s involved.”
“Assimilating into the community?”
“Through work, volunteering, attending church.”
“That seems hypocritical, to pretend to attend church.”
“I wasn’t pretending. I enjoy church.”
“Whatever.”
He’d upset her but wasn’t sure why. He’d figure that out later. In the meantime, he’d call for backup. He searched his pocket for his phone but came up empty.
“Your phone’s in the console,” she said.
He looked at her.
“You dropped it when they attacked you.”
“Thanks.”
“And here, you’ll probably need this.” She pulled his gun magazine out of her pocket and handed it to him.
He took it, trying to figure out why she had it.
“I thought you were a serial killer, remember?” she said.
“Right.” He pulled the gun out of his waistband, shoved the magazine in place and put it in the glove box.
“You’re not keeping it on