Sudden Second Chance. Carol Ericson

over him. “Do you want some more advice, Beth?”

      She blinked. “If you’re dishing it out.”

      “Find another case for your show. Get off this Timberline Trio gig. Since I’m in the Siberia of cold-case hell anyway, I can even toss a couple of good ones your way.”

      Her eyes narrowed. “Why would you do that? You must really want me off this case.”

      “It’s not me.” Raking a hand through his hair, he blew out a breath. “Someone else wants you off this case.”

      “What? Who? Bill?”

      “We got an anonymous email and I don’t think it was from Bill Raney.”

      “That’s crazy. The FBI got an email about little, old me? How did anyone even know I was doing a show on the Timberline Trio?”

      “How long have you been in Timberline?”

      “Two days.”

      “We got the email two days ago.”

      She sucked in her bottom lip. “You think it’s someone here?”

      “It has to be, unless the station has been doing promo for it.”

      “Not yet. We wouldn’t release anything about a story we haven’t even done yet. It might never come off.”

      “Then it has to be someone here in Timberline or someone related to someone in Timberline. You haven’t exactly been shy about your purpose here.”

      “No point in that. But why contact the FBI?” She snapped her fingers. “It must be someone who knows the FBI is looking into the case, too. Maybe this anonymous emailer figures the FBI will have some pull with me.”

      Duke snorted. “Mr. Anonymous obviously doesn’t know you.”

      “You know what’s strange?”

      “Huh?”

      “Why didn’t this person warn off the FBI? If it’s someone who doesn’t want me looking into the Timberline Trio, why would this same person be okay with the FBI dredging up the case?”

      “I have no idea. Maybe he thinks Cold Case Chronicles has a better shot at solving the case than the FBI.” He scanned her thoughtful face. “That was a joke.”

      “It’s strange, Duke. I suppose you tried to trace the email.”

      “With no luck.”

      “Must be someone who’s computer savvy, which isn’t hard to find in this town with Evergreen Software in the picture.”

      He captured a lock of her silky hair and twisted it around his finger. “How about it, Beth? Why don’t you back off? I’ll find you another case, a better case for your show.”

      “You don’t really think I’m in danger from an anonymous email, do you? I get a lot of anonymous emails, Duke. Some are unrepeatable.”

      “What about this?” He smacked his palm on the roof of the car. “Someone sends a threat and then someone breaks into your car. Do you think it’s a coincidence?”

      “Could just be a tweaker like Unger said. Besides, this could be good for you.”

      “How so?”

      “If someone who was involved in the disappearance of the Timberline Trio twenty-five years ago wants me off the case and is willing to harass me about it, you might be able to pick him up and actually solve the case.”

      “You think I’d use you, put you at risk to solve a twenty-five-year-old case?” He clenched his jaw.

      She swallowed, her Adam’s apple bobbing in her slender throat. “I...”

      “Just because you did it, don’t expect the same treatment from me.” He backed away from her car. “Drive carefully.”

      * * *

      WITH TEARS FLOODING her eyes, which had nothing to do with the cold air coming through the broken window, Beth glanced at Duke’s blurry headlights in her rearview mirror.

      He hadn’t forgiven her, despite his concern for her safety tonight.

      Maybe that concern was all a big act. Maybe the anonymous email was a lie. Why would someone want to warn her away from the case but not warn the FBI?

      Unless this someone knew her true identity. Did someone suspect her real purpose for highlighting the Timberline case?

      She pulled into the parking lot of the Timberline Hotel with Duke right behind her. They even got out of their cars at the same time. He followed her inside, but made no attempt to talk to her.

      She dreaded the awkward elevator ride, but he peeled off and headed for the stairwell. Once she stepped into the elevator, she sagged against the wall.

      Was the warning to the FBI connected to the break-in? Had the thief grabbed the bag because she’d left it out, or had he wanted to send a message by taking the Libby Love frog? And what was that message?

      She slid her card key in the door and leaned into it to shove it open.

      She dropped her purse on the single chair in the room and sauntered to the window, arms crossed. Resting her head against the cool glass, she took in the parking lot beneath her.

      Did Duke have a better view? If he’d taken the stairs, his room was probably located on the lower floors. The hotel had just five. Who was she kidding? Duke could run up five flights of stairs without breaking a sweat or gasping for breath. The man was a stud, but not the overly muscled kind. He had the long, lean body of a runner.

      She banged her head against the window. No point in letting her thoughts stray in that direction. He’d been concerned about her tonight, but that could just be because he wanted her out of the picture.

      Little did he know, she had more at stake here than good ratings.

      She could tell him, confess everything...well, almost everything. He already knew that she’d been adopted and hadn’t been able to locate her birth parents. If she explained to him her suspicions about being Heather Brice, maybe he could help her. Maybe he’d share the case files with her.

      She pivoted away from the window. If she told him that now, he’d suspect her of spinning a tale to get her hands on the information he had. She wouldn’t go down that road with him again.

      Sighing, she swept the remote control from the credenza and aimed it at the TV, turning it on.

      With the local TV news blaring in the background, she got ready for bed. Snug in a new pair of flannel pajamas she’d bought for the trip, she perched on the edge of the bed to watch the news. She hadn’t made the local news—not yet.

      She switched the channel to a sitcom rerun and flipped back the covers on her bed. Her heart slammed against her chest and she jerked back as she stared at the head of the Libby Love frog positioned on the white sheet, his miner’s hat at a jaunty angle.