Refuge Cove (New Americana 2)

“You can drive me to the police station now.” Her voice was icily calm. “Whatever it takes, I’m going to see that Boone Swenson never hurts another woman for as long as he lives!”

* * *

Detective Sam Traverton was gruff and middle-aged, with a thatch of iron gray hair, an expanding beltline, and a manner that suggested he’d seen everything there was to see in his long career. He listened as Emma told her story, jotting a few notes on a yellow pad.

“We can’t charge Boone with a crime until he’s caught,” he said. “We can pick him up if he comes into town. Otherwise it’ll be up to the state troopers to haul him in.

“After he’s booked, he’ll be charged by the county prosecutor.” He gave Emma a knowing look. “Now I know you want this fellow hung out to dry. But you can only get a conviction with a charge that’ll stick. In this case, my money’s on fraud—or maybe theft by deception. Boone lured you up here under false pretenses and stole your money.”

“But what about the rest?” Emma demanded. “Boone would’ve raped me, maybe even killed me, if I hadn’t escaped. At the very least, he should be guilty of kidnapping. And what about the drugs?”

Traverton gave her a wearied look. “A good defense attorney would argue that he didn’t kidnap you because you went with him willingly. He might have meant to rape you, but he didn’t get the chance because you ran away. And when he chased you, it was because you’d set his trailer on fire. As for the meth—knowing Boone, that doesn’t surprise me. But you’d have to catch him with the goods to justify an arrest.”

Emma’s heart sank. She’d hoped for so much more. “What about the gunshots?” she asked. “He almost hit us.”

Traverton shook his head. “Again, unless you can find the bullets and match them to his gun, there’s no evidence that he was even the one shooting. If he uses your credit cards, we can get him for identity theft. But he’d be more likely to sell them for cash than use them—especially the passport. Those are worth serious money on the black market.” He reached into a drawer and took out a business card. “Here’s the contact information for a retired judge who doesn’t mind helping folks out with a little pro bono work. She might be willing to give you a hand with the credit card companies and the passport office.”

He stood, a signal that the interview was over. “Since the wedding and your handing over the money occurred here in Ketchikan, that makes it my case. We’ll talk to Philpot and give the state troopers a heads-up to watch for Boone’s truck. For now, that’s about the best we can do.”

Emma accepted the business card and put it in her pocket. She was fuming as they walked outside to John’s Jeep. “Theft by deception! What’s that worth, about two years behind bars? Boone could’ve killed me, John! Maybe he was even planning to. That’s why he wouldn’t bother with a real wedding. For all I know he’s done this before, and the other women never got away! What if he’s got a whole graveyard out behind that trailer?”

“Whoa, there.” John stopped her at the curb, his hand just brushing her elbow. “Let’s take this one step at a time. Right now you need to stop Boone from using your passport and credit cards. Here’s my phone. You’ve got the card. Give that retired judge a call.”

Stop doing my thinking for me! She bit back the words, knowing they would sound petulant and ungrateful. She already owed this man more than she could ever repay. With a sigh, she fished the card out of her pocket, took the phone, noted the number and the name—Vera Falconi. Turning away from John, she made the call.

“Vera here.” The throaty voice was roughened by age, but the ring of authority was unmistakable.

“Judge Falconi, my name is Emma Hunter.” At least she didn’t have to say that she was Emma Swenson.

“Oh, yes.” The voice warmed. “Sam just called me about you. I’d be gl

ad to help, dear, but I’m busy for the rest of the day. Could you come by first thing tomorrow, say, around eight-thirty? Is that all right?”

The thought crossed Emma’s mind that she should ask John whether he could drive her in the morning. But given what seemed to be the judge’s busy schedule, it seemed best to just accept and work out the details later. “Eight-thirty would be fine, thank you,” she said.

“My pleasure, dear. Tomorrow, then.”

The call ended. That was when she turned and saw John’s rigidly controlled expression. His narrowed eyes and the straight line of his mouth reminded her of a dam holding back a flood of dark emotion.

“Is something wrong?” she asked. “Is there a problem with your driving me tomorrow morning?”

“No. It’s fine.” He opened the door of the Jeep. Emma climbed inside. Something was bothering him. But she knew better than to pry. She’d already learned that John Wolf was a very private person.

“The judge sounds like an interesting woman. Do you know her?” she asked as he settled in the driver’s seat.

“I know her. Everybody around here does.”

“Why do I get the feeling she’s not your favorite person?”

“As long as she’s willing to help you, it doesn’t matter.” He started the engine. “What do you want to do with the rest of your day?”

“I hadn’t planned beyond the visit to the police. I suppose I could buy a change of clothes and a disposable phone. But surely you’ve got more important things to do than baby-sit me. Just let me out and point me in the right direction. I can meet you somewhere later. Or did you have a different idea?”

“Not different. Just something more.” He turned the Jeep onto the main road that led along the docks. “Once your shopping’s done, we could take the plane up and look for Boone’s trailer. If we can map the coordinates and give them to the state troopers, they could take a chopper in there and check it out.”

“That sounds like the best plan I’ve heard all day,” Emma said. “Let’s do it.”

* * *