Annie would know where it is.
That had been the beginning.
He flicked on the car’s Bose stereo, wincing as some hick country song blasted through the speakers. He flipped through the channels, but nothing else came through clearly. Disgusted, he turned off the radio.
The road unfurled in front of him, steeped in shadows in the middle of the day and battered by silver rain. After a few miles, he began to see flashes of the lake through the trees. The pavement gave out to a gravel road that turned and twisted and finally led him to a huge clearing. A bright yellow house sat primly amid a front yard awash in brightly colored flowers. A red Mustang and a police car were parked beneath an old maple tree.
He parked the car and got out. Flipping his collar up again, he strode across the yard and bounded up the stairs, knocking hard on the front door. It opened almost instantly, and a little girl stood in the opening. She was wearing a pair of Gortex overalls and a baseball cap. In her arms, she held a raggedy old doll.
Blake smiled down at her. “Hello. I’m—”
A man appeared suddenly behind the child. His hands rested protectively on the girl’s shoulders and drew her back slightly into the house. “Hello?”
Blake stared at the tall, silver-haired man, then craned his neck to look inside the house. “Hi. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for Annalise Colwater. Her father, Hank, told me she’d be here. ”
The man tensed visibly. His eerie blue eyes narrowed and swept Blake from head to toe in a single glance. Blake was somehow certain that the man’s eyes missed nothing, not the expense of his Armani suit nor even the oddness of his tie. “You’re Blake. ”
Blake frowned. “Yes, and you are . . . ”
From somewhere inside the house, Blake heard the clattering of someone running down stairs. “I’m ready, you guys. ”
Blake recognized Annie’s voice. He sidled past the silent man and child and slipped into the house.
Annie saw him and skidded to a stop.
He almost didn’t recognize her. She was wearing yellow rain gear and a big floppy hat that covered most of her face. The boots on her feet had to be four sizes too big. He forced a big smile and opened his arms. “Surprise. ”
She threw an odd glance at the silver-haired man, then slowly her gaze returned to Blake. “What are you doing here?”
He looked at the two strangers; both were watching him. Slowly, he let his arms fall to his sides. “I’d rather not discuss it in public. ”
Annie bit on her lower lip, then sighed heavily. “Okay, Blake. We can talk. But not here. ”
The girl whined and stomped her foot. “But Annie—we were gonna get ice cream. ”
Annie smiled at the child. “I’m sorry, Izzy. I need to talk to this man for a while. I’ll make it up to you, okay?”
This man. Blake’s stomach tightened. What in the hell was going on here?
“Don’t make this hard on Annie, okay, Sunshine? She has to go for a minute. ” It was the man’s voice.
“But she’ll be comin’ back . . . won’t she, Daddy?”
The question fell into an awkward silence. No one answered.
Annie moved past the little girl and came up beside Blake. “I’ll meet you at Ted’s Diner and Barber shop in about ten minutes. It’s right downtown. You can’t miss it. ”
Blake felt as if the world had tilted. He looked down at her, this woman he barely recognized. “Okay. See you in ten minutes. ”
He stood there for an interminable moment, feeling awkward and ill at ease. Then he forced a smile. All they needed was a few minutes alone, and everything would be fine. That’s what he told himself as he turned and left the house. He was still telling himself that ten minutes later as he parked in front of the cheesiest, sleaziest diner he’d ever seen. Inside, he slipped into a yellow Naugahyde booth and ordered a cup of coffee. When it came, he checked his Rolex: 11:15.
He was actually nervous. Beneath the Formica wood-grain table, he surreptitiously wiped his damp palms on his pants.
He glanced at his watch again—11:25—and wondered if Annie was going to show. It was a crazy thought and he dismissed it almost instantly. Annie was the most dependable person he’d ever known. If Annie said she’d be someplace, she’d be there. Late, maybe; harried, often. But she’d be there.
“Hello, Blake. ”
He snapped his head away from the window at the sound of her voice. She was standing beside the table with one hip cocked out and her arms crossed. She was wearing a pair of faded blue jeans and a sleeveless white turtle-neck, and her hair . . . it looked as if someone had hacked it off with a weed-eater.