Smoky Mountains Ranger. Lena Diaz

working part-time as a private investigator.” He tugged her hand, then stopped and looked over his shoulder at her when she pulled back. “Jody?”

      “I’m not a private investigator,” she confessed. “And when I tell you the rest, you aren’t going to think I did the best I could or made good decisions. I didn’t.”

      He turned to face her. “Go on.”

      “Tracy pretty much runs the office. I guess you’d call her an administrative assistant. I help Sam with his cases. But I’m not a licensed investigator, just a recent criminal justice grad trying to get some experience to help me get the job I really want—as a criminal investigator with the prosecutor’s office. But those jobs are few and far between, so I’m working two jobs to make ends meet and trying to get a step up on the competition when the job I want opens up.”

      She waved her hand again. “Anyway, my point is that I’m his gofer, his researcher. Sometimes I interview clients and things like that. Sam does all the heavy lifting, and I take care of the grunt work.”

      He studied her intently, as if weighing her every word. “So far I’m not hearing any bad decisions or things for you to be worried about.”

      She tightened her hands into fists by her sides. “There’s more. I screwed up. I mean, really, really screwed up.” She let out a shaky breath and met his gaze again. “Sam disappeared a week ago. And before you ask, no, it’s not unusual. He’s had a tough time since his wife died of ovarian cancer about a year ago. He hits the bottle too hard. He usually shows up a few days later and will be fine for a while.” She clenched her fists so hard the nails dug into her palms. “We always cover for him when he’s on a binge. Do you understand what I’m telling you? He could lose his license if clients complain that he’s a drunk and messes up cases. And besides that, if he messes up the cases, the income stops rolling in. And, well, Tracy and I both rely on that income. We live paycheck to paycheck. No paycheck means no food, no rent.”

      He stared at her intently. “You did more than run errands, didn’t you?”

      She nodded. “We may have...pretended to be Sam to some of the clients, through correspondence in the mail...to close out cases, resolve issues.”

      “You operated as PIs without a license. You’re worried that you may have committed fraud. Even worse, mail fraud. That’s a felony.”

      She winced and looked away.

      The silence stretched out between them.

      “Jody. There’s more, isn’t there?”

      She nodded slowly.

      His sigh could have knocked over a tree. “Go on. Might as well tell me the rest.”

      She swallowed, then forced herself to meet his gaze. Surprisingly, it wasn’t the cold, judgmental look she’d expected. Instead, he looked at her with something far worse.

      Pity.

      She stiffened her spine and confessed the rest of her sins.

      “Sam is dead. Tracy and I killed him.”