The Chance. Robyn Carr

doesn’t cook,” Cooper said. “Sometimes he warms things, but that’s just sometimes.”

      “Sarah says he’s a good cook,” Gina pointed out.

      “Oh, he cooks for Sarah,” Cooper said of his wife. “When she wanders into the kitchen he asks her right away what she’d like. Now that she’s packin’, Rawley takes real good care of her.”

      “Packin’?” Eric asked.

      “Pregnant,” three people answered in unison.

      “I see,” he said, sitting back and wiping his mouth on the napkin.

      “Business must be good,” Mac said to Eric. “I saw a dually pulling a trailer through town, an old Plymouth on the trailer.”

      “A 1970 Superbird,” Eric told him. “It’s in for a rebuilt engine, new bench seat and a refurbished dash. I think we’re going to have to refresh that roof, too. It’s the original vinyl and not going to be easy.”

      “Bench seat? Not buckets?”

      Eric shook his head. “Not in the Superbird. I guess if you drove one of those you got girls and if you got girls, you wanted them sitting right next to you.”

      “Where’d it come from?” Mac asked.

      “Southern California.”

      “Someone would bring an old car up from Southern California?”

      Eric sipped his coffee. “It’s a two-hundred-thousand-dollar classic. The owner would bring it across six states for the right work. I’ve done a lot of work for him. He owns twenty cars. I think it’s most of his estate. He likes to do a lot of the restoration work himself and he does a great job. He doesn’t have the equipment for replacing an engine block and the car is his baby.”

      “His baby?” Gina asked.

      “He kisses it before he goes to bed every night. He probably treats the car better than he treats his wife.”

      “Boys and their toys,” Gina said.

      “You’re putting us on the map,” Mac said. “Imagine—that car is worth more than this diner.”

      Eric noticed a couple of young women walking across the street from the clinic. One he knew to be Devon, the doctor’s office manager—he’d met her a couple of months ago and had seen her around. The other one he didn’t recognize. She was wearing a ball cap low over her forehead and fitted yoga pants, a jacket and running shoes. Her blond hair was strung through the back of her cap, noticeable when she turned to laugh at something Devon said.

      When they walked into the diner Gina beamed a happy grin and said, “Hey!”

      “What’s this?” Devon asked. “Grumpy old men’s club?”

      “I beg your pardon,” Cooper replied. “I’m not old.”

      “He’s older than me,” Mac said.

      Eric said nothing. His eyes were busy with the new girl and when something like that happened it tended to tie up his tongue.

      “Laine, you know Cooper and Mac, but have you met Eric? Eric owns the service station and body shop at the end of the street. Eric, this is my friend, Laine Carrington. She’s new in town.”

      Eric found himself on his feet. “Nice to meet you.”

      “And you,” she replied. “Please, sit. We’re just going to grab a cup of coffee.” She looked at Gina. “You due for a break?”

      “I am,” she said. “I’ll bring the coffee.”

      As Devon and Laine headed toward the back of the diner to a booth, Eric followed them with his eyes. Then he guiltily returned his eyes to his coffee cup, grateful to note that Cooper and Mac were discussing how much money was too much to spend on a car. A two-hundred-thousand-dollar Superbird didn’t even enter the conversation.

      Eric had a couple of classics, cars he’d restored himself. He’d salvaged them and had planned to restore and sell them, then he got attached. It happened. There were dealers and then there were collectors. Then there were guys like him who were looking to make a few bucks and turned into collectors.

      He talked with his friends for a while longer, forcefully keeping his eyes from wandering to that back booth, until finally Mac stood and left the waitress a tip, making the men laugh. Cooper left a ten on the counter for his seven-dollar breakfast.

      But Eric walked to the back booth. “Gina, I’m going to need some change. You’re good, but not that good.”

      “I’d argue with that, but it will be quicker to get your change.” She snatched the twenty out of his hand and headed for the register.

      “Nice meeting you, Laine. If you ever need any dents popped or rough edges smoothed out, I’m your guy,” he said. When he saw Laine and Devon looking at him with wide eyes, he winced. But the women laughed.

      “I’ll keep that in mind,” she said.

      Two

      Even though Laine needed help with the heavy lifting and some of the picture-hanging in her new home, it didn’t take any time at all to begin to feel settled. She had learned long ago how to be extremely focused. In less than a week all her furniture was in place right down to throws over couches and pictures on the walls, thanks to a lot of help from Devon and her fiancé, Spencer. The owner’s furnishings were now in storage, packed up and taken away on the same truck that brought hers. She had picked out a couple of walls she wanted to paint and purchased the supplies. Despite the challenge painting with her right arm presented, she was determined to get it done. She could handle most of the trim if it was shoulder level or lower, but reaching the roller above her head would be a job for her left arm. She was getting really good with that left arm! She’d try using her right arm, though—it was great therapy. She was very dedicated to her exercises.

      This place was going to be different—she was going to make this home. Her town house in Virginia was where she stayed. Although she had her own things—furniture and accessories—in all the years she was there she had only rented the place. She traveled, went undercover, visited her brother and his family on weekends and holidays. Her town house had been temporary for years and she was away as much as she was there. But this—the house with the view—she was going to make it hers. It was going to be her refuge for the year. She had earned it.

      It was Saturday afternoon and the sun was shining for a change. There was one person in Thunder Point she knew and hadn’t yet seen. Someone she really owed. And it looked like a perfect day for a jog through town and across the beach.

      As she ran, her mind wandered back to that last assignment. She had gotten almost all of the women and children out of the commune compound through a break in the fence, but her success had been completely foiled when Jacob figured her out. He beat her and confined her, tying her to a chair in his house. She was further foiled when Jacob somehow located and abducted Devon’s three-year-old daughter, Mercy, bringing her back to the camp. Later, when it was all over, the FBI learned he had simply done a computer search for Devon’s address.

      At the time, Laine had been his prisoner. So had Mercy. It had been Jacob’s plan to escape with his daughter and whatever money and documents he could gather together. And then he planned to burn the place to the ground, leaving any others, like Laine, behind. He torched the warehouse holding the marijuana plants knowing the fire could spread into a full-on wildfire that would threaten the whole valley—something he no doubt hoped would occupy law enforcement long enough for his escape.

      Laine had managed to free herself and grab Mercy, but in the process she’d been shot in the shoulder. By the time help arrived in the form of Rawley, Spencer, Cooper and Devon, she was nearly unconscious from blood loss—her brachial artery had been nicked.

      Of course Laine had known Devon and Mercy from her time in the camp but she had no idea