Mistaken Identity

Mason dropped to the ground as the first bullet flew, the police yelling commands, the scent of gunfire in the air. The crack and pop and zing of weapons being discharged, and for a moment he was back in time, lying on the hot sand of an Iraqi outpost while bullets whizzed over his head.

THREE (#uab3fe9cb-a13a-55a5-9e5f-780296644adb)

Five rounds fired in quick succession.

Law enforcement officers yelled commands.

And, then, silence. To Trinity, that was the worst sound of all—the emptiness and quiet filled with the echo of violence.

She stepped from her hiding place, searching for the path that would lead her back to the beach. She was almost certain that’s where the gunfire had come from. The police were there. That being the case, she should be safe enough.

She hoped, because she wasn’t going to keep cowering in her hiding place. Not while Mason faced down the men who’d been chasing her through the woods. She’d caused her own trouble, and she was going to get herself out of it.

Once she did, she’d concentrate on getting what she’d come to Maine for.

That was going to prove difficult since Mason had already refused to hear her out. He was angry that she’d trespassed, irritated that she’d gotten herself embroiled in a mess on his property and probably anxious to see her leave the area.

She had a weekend to change things.

A weekend to convince him to listen.

First, she had to make sure he was okay.

The moon had inched above the trees, and it glowed gold-green, illuminating the dead leaves and scrub that littered the forest floor. The path should be right up ahead, and she headed in that direction, moving as quietly as she could, afraid to break the ominous silence.

She reached the path and hesitated, her skin crawling, her pulse racing. Voices carried through the trees, drifting up from the beach. None of them frantic or excited. Whatever had happened, whatever the gunfire had meant, it was over, but Trinity still felt uneasy.

She stepped onto the path and turned toward the beach, skirting past giant pine trees that could have been hiding anyone or anything.

Sounds drifted up from the shore, men and women talking, a dog barking, radios buzzing with activity.

She thought about calling out, but she was afraid of who else might be listening. Not just the law-enforcement officials who’d converged on the property. There’d been at least two men in the woods and it was possible both of them were still free.

She shivered, her teeth chattering as she jogged toward the beach. The slope was easy, but her feet were numb and she could barely feel the ground beneath them. She tripped over roots, stumbled over rocks. Her foot got caught in a tangle of weeds spreading across the path and she fell hard.

Someone grabbed her arm, dragged her up.

She went fighting, swinging her fist toward a shadowy face.

“Let’s not,” Mason growled, snagging her hand before she could make contact.

“How did you get here?” she asked, taking a couple of quick steps back to put some distance between them.

“I walked. Now, how about you tell me why you didn’t stay where I left you.”

“I heard gunshots.”

“And that made you think you should jump into whatever chaos was happening?”

“The gunfire stopped. I heard the police. I figured it was safe enough to come out.”

“Just like you figured it was safe enough to swim in a lake that has a temperature hovering in the thirties?”

“For the record,” she said, “I wasn’t exactly thinking when I jumped into the lake.”

“For the record,” he replied, cupping her elbow and tugging her along the path. “I like quiet. I like peace. I do not like people bringing drama to my property.”

“I didn’t bring this. It was here when I arrived.”

“If you’d stayed away, you wouldn’t have walked into it.”

“If I’d stayed away, I wouldn’t have had the opportunity to meet you. Which was the entire purpose of my trip to Maine.”

“Normal people don’t travel six hundred miles to meet with strangers. Especially if the strangers they plan to meet don’t know they’re coming.”

“I never said I was normal.” She pulled his coat a little closer, using the movement to dislodge his hand from her elbow.

“If you’re not, then we have something in common.” He grabbed her arm, and this time she didn’t think she was going to maneuver away from him. “Because I’m not the typical hospitable rural resident who’d happily offer food and ride to someone who broke down in front of his house. I don’t like unexpected visitors, Trinity. Generally speaking, I ignore them.”

“I got that impression from the interviews you did a couple of years back.”

“I don’t like having my work interrupted,” he continued as if she hadn’t spoken. “And, I for sure don’t like to be lied to, manipulated, or used.”

“I hope you’re not implying that I’m trying to do any of those things.”

“The timing of your arrival is suspect.”

“What does that mean?”

“The sheriff wants to speak with you.”

“If you’re trying to scare me, it’s not working. I didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m happy to speak with the sheriff.”

“I’m sure Judah will be happy to hear that.”

“Judah?”

“Dillon. He’s the sheriff. We’ve been friends for a long time.”

“Sounds like you’re still trying to scare me.”

“Why would I? Unless you’ve done something wrong, you’ve got nothing to be scared of.”

He’d given her an opening, another opportunity to try to tell him about Henry. She wasn’t going to miss it. “I already told you, I’m here for a friend. Her son has cancer in his right femur, and the leg will have to be amputated. I came to—”

“You can tell Judah. He’ll be able to fact-check.”

“Is there some reason why you don’t want to hear what I have to say?”