quality. Ethan Truax
could not have dug deep enough to uncover the truth, she assured herself, not in such a
short period of time.
Besides, he'd had no reason to go looking into her past. She had paid him to search for
Jennifer Mason. Why would he waste time probing into his client's background, instead?
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, trying to keep her voice cool and even.
"Did you locate Jennifer Mason?"
"No," Ethan said.
She clutched the phone more tightly to her ear. "You couldn't find her?"
"No," Ethan said again. "What's more, I don't think you expected me to find her. And that's
what makes this all so damn interesting, you see."
"I don't understand."
"We need to talk," Ethan said. He ended the call abruptly.
Anger shafted through her. "Damn it, don't you dare hang up on me, Truax."
The door of her office opened without warning, jolting her. She swung around in her office
chair.
Ethan walked into the room looking as if he had just come from a construction site. He wore a
pair of grungy paint-stained jeans, a denim shirt, scuffed work boots, and a peaked cap
emblazoned with the logo of a local tavern, Hell's Belles. She recognized the name of the
establishment. It was a sleazy dive that catered to guys who drove trucks and motorcycles.
She had never been attracted to the kind of male who frequented such places.
So why was she experiencing these little hot and cold chills of awareness at the sight of
Ethan? She had clearly gone a little too long without a date.
Ethan slid his phone into the pocket of his shirt. "I happened to be in the neighborhood.
Thought I'd drop by."
She put down her own phone with great care and tried to compose herself. At least this time
she had the advantage of being the one on the business side of a desk.
"Is the dramatic entrance one of the tricks of the trade, Mr. Truax?"
"Like I said, we need to have a conversation and we need to have it right now." He started
toward one of the two client chairs positioned across from her desk. Then he noticed the
three black-and-white shots of Nightwinds and stopped. "Who took those?"
"I did."
"Huh."
"Forget the pictures, Mr. Truax." She sat forward, impatient and anxious, and folded her hands
on the desk. "Sit down and tell me exactly what is going on."
He took one last look at the three photos and then obligingly settled into a chair. She
immediately regretted asking him to take a seat. The expensive upholstery on her client chairs
had never been intended to withstand dirty work clothes.
Ethan appeared oblivious to any impact he might be making on her precious chair. Lounging
back against the honey-colored leather, he extended his legs and crossed his booted feet at
the ankles. He removed a small notepad from the pocket of his shirt and flipped it open.
"I found no evidence to indicate the Mrs. Jennifer Mason is celebrating her newly acquired
status as a soon-to-be divorced woman." He studied his notes. "She has not used any credit
cards recently. She has not used an ATM machine to remove any cash from the couple's joint
checking account nor has she written any checks on that account." He looked up. "The
account is still open, by the way. Davis Mason has not bothered to close it."
"What does that mean?"
"Wild guess? He's not particularly worried that his soon-to-be-ex will clean out the account."
"Oh." This was going to be as bad as she had feared.
"Jennifer Mason appears to have had no close friends here in town. I'm still checking that
angle, but it's not looking good. She was not a longtime resident of Whispering Springs and
apparently the only socializing she did after her marriage was when she helped Mason
entertain business clients. That was not a frequent occurrence."
"Relatives?" Zoe inquired.
"Just a couple of distant cousins and an elderly aunt who live in Indiana. I called them this
morning. None of them have heard from her recently nor is anyone concerned. They all
could not have dug deep enough to uncover the truth, she assured herself, not in such a
short period of time.
Besides, he'd had no reason to go looking into her past. She had paid him to search for
Jennifer Mason. Why would he waste time probing into his client's background, instead?
"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, trying to keep her voice cool and even.
"Did you locate Jennifer Mason?"
"No," Ethan said.
She clutched the phone more tightly to her ear. "You couldn't find her?"
"No," Ethan said again. "What's more, I don't think you expected me to find her. And that's
what makes this all so damn interesting, you see."
"I don't understand."
"We need to talk," Ethan said. He ended the call abruptly.
Anger shafted through her. "Damn it, don't you dare hang up on me, Truax."
The door of her office opened without warning, jolting her. She swung around in her office
chair.
Ethan walked into the room looking as if he had just come from a construction site. He wore a
pair of grungy paint-stained jeans, a denim shirt, scuffed work boots, and a peaked cap
emblazoned with the logo of a local tavern, Hell's Belles. She recognized the name of the
establishment. It was a sleazy dive that catered to guys who drove trucks and motorcycles.
She had never been attracted to the kind of male who frequented such places.
So why was she experiencing these little hot and cold chills of awareness at the sight of
Ethan? She had clearly gone a little too long without a date.
Ethan slid his phone into the pocket of his shirt. "I happened to be in the neighborhood.
Thought I'd drop by."
She put down her own phone with great care and tried to compose herself. At least this time
she had the advantage of being the one on the business side of a desk.
"Is the dramatic entrance one of the tricks of the trade, Mr. Truax?"
"Like I said, we need to have a conversation and we need to have it right now." He started
toward one of the two client chairs positioned across from her desk. Then he noticed the
three black-and-white shots of Nightwinds and stopped. "Who took those?"
"I did."
"Huh."
"Forget the pictures, Mr. Truax." She sat forward, impatient and anxious, and folded her hands
on the desk. "Sit down and tell me exactly what is going on."
He took one last look at the three photos and then obligingly settled into a chair. She
immediately regretted asking him to take a seat. The expensive upholstery on her client chairs
had never been intended to withstand dirty work clothes.
Ethan appeared oblivious to any impact he might be making on her precious chair. Lounging
back against the honey-colored leather, he extended his legs and crossed his booted feet at
the ankles. He removed a small notepad from the pocket of his shirt and flipped it open.
"I found no evidence to indicate the Mrs. Jennifer Mason is celebrating her newly acquired
status as a soon-to-be divorced woman." He studied his notes. "She has not used any credit
cards recently. She has not used an ATM machine to remove any cash from the couple's joint
checking account nor has she written any checks on that account." He looked up. "The
account is still open, by the way. Davis Mason has not bothered to close it."
"What does that mean?"
"Wild guess? He's not particularly worried that his soon-to-be-ex will clean out the account."
"Oh." This was going to be as bad as she had feared.
"Jennifer Mason appears to have had no close friends here in town. I'm still checking that
angle, but it's not looking good. She was not a longtime resident of Whispering Springs and
apparently the only socializing she did after her marriage was when she helped Mason
entertain business clients. That was not a frequent occurrence."
"Relatives?" Zoe inquired.
"Just a couple of distant cousins and an elderly aunt who live in Indiana. I called them this
morning. None of them have heard from her recently nor is anyone concerned. They all
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