She frowned at the phone. It wasn’t the “we need to talk” message she’d been expecting. There was nothing personal about it, which was both a relief and a disappointment.
Patrick:It’s important
She stood. Patrick didn’t seem like the type to overdramatize. And, barring her aberrant behavior, he had been extremely helpful. She couldn’tnotanswer.
Frank was watching her closely. “Problem?”
She hoped not. “No. I just need to take this.”
Morgan took the phone into the living room and tapped the call icon on Patrick’s message. “What’s up?”
“A friend of mine came upon a car hidden in the brush about a mile from the campground.”
Her first—and irrational—thought was, “What friend?” but she stopped the question before it could pass over her lips. “You think it might be Varro’s?”
“Might be. He had to get there somehow, right? Anyway, I’m heading up that way to check it out if you’d like to come with me.”
Hell, yes, she wanted to be there. “Tell me where and I’ll meet you.”
“Sending a location now.”
Her phone dinged a few seconds later with a link that provided GPS coordinates to an area about a mile southeast of the campground.
Morgan popped her head back into the kitchen, finding Donna talking quietly with Frank. Both of them ceased speaking immediately and turned to look at her, which was weird, but not an immediate priority. “I need to head out for a bit. Not sure how long I’ll be.”
She grabbed her jacket and was out the door before they could question it.
Patrick was already therewhen she arrived, standing outside his SUV, looking better than any man had a right to be in well-worn jeans and an open flannel shirt, giving her a peek at the snug-fitting shirt beneath. Her heart picked up speed just looking at him, which was rather inconvenient.
“Morning,” he said, holding out a thermal cup. “Coffee?”
“You brought me coffee?”
He shrugged easily. “Just returning the favor.”
“Thanks,” she said, accepting the cup.
He pointed to a barely there break in the brush about ten yards away. “The vehicle is a little ways back from the road. You okay walking it?”
“Of course.”
He picked up the backpack at his feet and led the way. They walked the trail without speaking. The ground was hard under the first real frost of the season, their breath visible in the air. About a quarter mile in the trail bent south, the brush thickening, and then she saw it—a silver-gray midsize sedan pulled well off the track and into the tree line, deliberately positioned so it wouldn't be visible from the road.
She stopped.
This was no simple abandoned car. This was a professional placement. She'd have walked right past it if she hadn’t been looking for it.
“How did you find this?”
“I didn’t,” Patrick said. “Bruno did. He and Wade walk these old logger trails often.”
It was clear from the state of the vehicle that it hadn’t been there long. No visible buildup of leaves or dirt. The tires were fully inflated and relatively clean.
She pulled out her phone and documented the position first—the angle, the depth into the tree line, the absence of tire tracks visible from the trail. Then she pulled on the nitrile gloves she always carried in her jacket pocket and walked a slow perimeter while Patrick held back and let her work.
No registration sticker. She shone her light through the driver's window. Interior equally clean. Professionally so.
She straightened up and looked at the trunk and thought about what might be in it. Same with the glove compartment. The temptation to find out was nearly overwhelming, but she held herself back. Without proper equipment and a controlled environment, she might inadvertently corrupt evidence.