Page 32 of Holding His Hostage
“Yes.”
“I don’t think I’ve ever been to a fuck party.”
“You know what I mean.”
He turned down a quaint little main street lined with glass-fronted businesses. “That’s it, next to the coffee shop. Number fourteen-twelve.” He pulled into a parking spot.
Joanne unbuckled her seat belt. “What are we going to say to this woman? Excuse me, but I know you were boffing my husband. Were you also stealing money from yours and planning a dramatic getaway? Oh, and by the way, any chance David’s still alive and hiding out in your basement?”
“Something like that.”
“Can I come in?” piped Lucas.
“No,” Sloan and Joanne said in unison.
“Can I get gum?” he asked.
“They don’t sell gum at interior decorating firms. We’ll only be a few minutes,” she added, opening her door and climbing down from the high seat onto a sidewalk dusted with fresh snow. Next door, an older woman watched them with open curiosity from the wide window of a knitting shop.
Sloan met Jo beside the camper. “Neighborhood watch,” he said, indicating the woman and offering her a friendly wave.
“Best security system around.” She followed him to the door. “I hate this.”
“You can wait in the camper.”
“No way.” He pulled the door handle, finding it locked, and rang the doorbell. Joanne’s heart was beating like a ticking clock. When no one answered, he cupped his hands around his eyes and peered inside. “Looks like they’re closed.” Desks were clear, and shelves that looked like they should be stocked stood bare. “Looks like they’ve been closed for a while. Ten bucks says the knitting lady knows what’s up.”
“Should we ask her?”
“Yeah. Pretend you’re tight with McKenzie. You can say you used to work with her at David’s accounting firm.”
“Oh, God, don’t make me lie.” She turned and headed next door.
“Really doesn’t come naturally to you, does it?”
“You know it doesn’t.”
“Just a little white lie. No big deal. You smile and say, ‘Do you know when McKenzie will be back in the office? I used to work with her at…’ What’s the name of the firm?”
“Baldwin & Regan.”
He rolled his eyes. “Of course it is. So, ‘I used to work with her at Baldwin & Regan. My husband and I just happened to be passing through town—’”
“Husband?”
He shrugged. “Why not? Easiest way to explain me being here.”
“I’d rather say literally anything else.”
“Who else would you be traveling with?”
“I don’t know, but there’s no way you’re going to be my husband in this scenario.” He could be her pimp or even her parole officer. Anything but her husband.
“We got married in the Florida Keys,” he said. “Very spur-of-the-moment. Honeymooned in the South of France. The kids were thrilled, of course.”
She gave him her best stink eye, then pulled open the door of the knitting shop. The woman from the window pulled her cardigan closed against the cold. “May I help you?”
Lying made Jo physically sick, her stomach heaving as she forced a smile onto her face and pushed ahead. “We’re looking for McKenzie Bannon. I used to work with her. Do you have any idea when she might be back?”
