The Full Story. Dawn Stewardson

I’m legit?”

      “Uh-huh. Regardless of that, though, Mr. Brent isn’t here right now.”

      “Then why,” she said, gesturing toward the wallet he was still holding, “have we been playing this little ID game?”

      She was so clearly pissed off and trying not to show it that he almost laughed.

      Resisting the impulse, he handed over her wallet and said, “I had to be sure who you were—whether Mr. Brent was here or not.”

      “Yes. Of course,” she said, sticking the wallet back into her purse. “And at least, now, you’ll be a step ahead when he gets back.”

      She stood watching him after she’d finished speaking, looking more suspicious by the second and finally saying, “He will be getting back, won’t he?”

      Damn. He couldn’t say no. With everyone from Billy’s agent to his PR handler claiming that he was up in Canada, enjoying a little time at his island retreat, if he admitted the man wasn’t here at all…

      Well, he could just imagine how Mickey Westover’s cute little journalistic nose would start to quiver.

      But if he told her Billy would be back, he’d bet that she’d want to wait right here for him.

      “Look,” he said at last. “He won’t be home until late. And you’ve got a long drive from here back to…I assume you’re staying in Victoria?”

      “That’s where I stayed last night. But I checked out of my hotel this morning, thinking I’d be flying back to San Francisco tonight. I can’t go home without the interview, though,” she added quickly.

      “No, of course not. So let’s play things this way. I’ll wait up for Billy and we’ll reschedule your appointment. And you can find a motel that’s a lot closer than Victoria. Then, if you call me first thing in the morning, I’ll tell you what time to be here.” Dan did his best to look sincere even though what he’d really do, come morning, was tell her that Billy had changed his mind, had decided he didn’t want pictures of this place in any newspaper.

      After that, if she was the real thing she’d get on a plane and head home. And if she wasn’t the real thing…well, he certainly knew what he’d do then.

      “I don’t suppose there’s any way I could wait here for him,” she finally said, just as he’d known she would.

      “Sorry,” he told her, trying to sound as if he really meant it. “But Mr. Brent’s liable to be very late. And the thought of an overnight guest he’s never even met… There are some things he just doesn’t go for.”

      “I understand,” she murmured.

      He watched her climb into her car and set her purse and camera bag on the passenger seat, surprised that she was giving up so easily.

      Apparently she didn’t have the bulldog tenacity of most reporters, which probably explained why she got handed dumb assignments like…what had she said the series was called?

      Oh, yeah, Hideouts of the Stars. Not much doubt she wouldn’t be winning a Pulitzer for that one.

      It was just as well she wasn’t tenacious, though. The sooner she was gone and he could get back to those monitor screens—and resume watching for the real killer—the better.

      He waited while she turned the car around. Then she gave him a little wave as she started off.

      No hard feelings, it seemed to say.

      But that wasn’t what she’d be thinking come morning, when he told her there wouldn’t be any interview.

      MICKEY HEADED back toward the Trans-Canada Highway, which struck her as a grandiose name for a twisty-turny, two-lane mountain road. On the drive up here, she’d wondered several times what the secondary highways must be like.

      At any rate, she drove more than far enough from Billy’s hideaway to insure that the sound of her engine had faded from Mr. Dan O’Neill’s range of hearing. Then she pulled over.

      The man hadn’t been straight with her.

      She wasn’t sure exactly what clue she’d picked up on. There’d been nothing in those cold blue eyes of his to tip her off.

      But she was certain he’d been lying. And since her sixth sense seldom failed her, she suspected that Billy Brent was actually right there in his retreat. Exactly where he was supposed to be.

      So had he simply changed his mind about the interview and told his bodyguard to get rid of her?

      The more she considered the possibility, the more convinced she grew that that was precisely what had happened.

      Billy wasn’t known for his concern about others. The fact that she’d flown all the way up from San Francisco, then risked her life on a killer of a road, wouldn’t count for diddly with him.

      But he’d promised her an interview and she was damn well going to get one.

      If she expected to ever be assigned serious stories, she had to come through on the lightweight ones. So, if Billy Brent had changed his mind, she’d just have to change it back.

      The first step, though, would be getting to him without Daniel O’Neill intercepting her again. And how was she going to manage that?

      Trying to march down the driveway a second time was obviously out. And for all she knew there were surveillance cameras mounted in half the trees on Billy’s property. So even if she avoided the driveway and made her way through the woods, O’Neill might spot her.

      Besides, if she didn’t stay within sight of the driveway she wouldn’t know where she should be making her way to. Which would not be good.

      Closing her eyes, she concentrated on trying to sketch a blueprint for action. When not a single good idea came to her, she opened her eyes again—and discovered that the god of happenstance was smiling down.

      Heading along the narrow road toward her was a courier truck that had to be going to Billy’s.

      Well, actually it didn’t have to be. She’d passed two or three private roads between the highway and his place. But she had a feeling that was where this truck was heading. So all she had to do was make the most of her chance.

      After grabbing her purse and camera bag from the seat beside her, she rapidly climbed out of the car and waved at the driver—doing her best to act and think at the same time.

      As he slowed to a stop, she offered up a little prayer that she could pull off a plan that had barely begun to germinate in her mind.

      “Problem?” he said through his open window.

      She did a half-second assessment and decided she had a good chance. His expression was one of fatherly concern.

      “Yes,” she said. “Definitely a problem. I turned off the highway just to see what was down here, but it’s a dead end.”

      He nodded.

      “Then, on the way back, my car died.”

      “Want me to look under the hood?”

      “Thanks, but it’s a rental and I’ve already called the roadside emergency number. There’s a tow truck on the way, only…” She tried her hardest to look extremely frightened before adding, “I just saw a cougar.”

      “Really? You don’t often spot them this time of day. Usually it’s early morning or dusk.”

      Good Lord! He sounded as if cougar sightings were downright routine.

      “Ah,” she said. “Well, the thing is…seeing it scared me half to death and I’m afraid to stay here alone. So I wonder if I could catch a ride with you to a gas station or…anywhere there’d be people.”

      She waited, willing him to say “Sure.”

      Instead, he said,