Page 64 of Say Yes to the Death

The cab wound its way deeper into the woods that surrounded West Haven, the opposite end of town from Luke’s house. Every time Claire glanced behind her, headlights still followed them into the darkness. At this point, she wasn’t sure whether they were reporters or locals.

“Almost there,” the cab driver reported, slowing down.They hadn’t passed a mailbox in a mile or two.

“Are we near the lake?” Claire asked.

“‘Bout a half mile off this road. Good kayaking in the summer.”

“Good to know.”

The cab turned at a barely noticeable driveway with a Private—No Trespassing sign planted firmly in the ground. The mailbox leaned slightly on its post.

As they left the paved road, the cars behind them slowed and then stopped. Bastards. The cab pulled up outside a charming Cape Cod home. The house, though unassuming, was surrounded by beautiful landscaping. A mechanically edged flower bed contained a handful of hostas. A rock-lined pathway led the way to the wraparound porch. Crimson geraniums flanked the front door in squat pots.

Claire paid the driver and opened her door, ready to drag her bag out of the trunk. Her heart stopped.

Wait. Her friends and the cops weren’t the only people who knew about the note. Sawyer was the first one to respond to the scene. How could she have forgotten? Could he have told the press? And now she was stranded at his house in the middle of the woods with no neighbors for a good mile. Not to mention he was gigantic and could probably subdue her using only his nondominant pinkie. How could she be such an idiot?

The ground trembled beneath her, and a low boof came from somewhere behind her. She whirled around. All her tasers were at home, the warehouse, or Luke’s car. Damn TSA. She was ready to hurl her bag when a Rottweiler with a big, goofy smile approached the cab.

“Well, hello, handsome.” Claire held out her hand.

Rosie hid behind Claire’s legs, sniffing fearfully at the newcomer. She generally preferred pugs and other vertically challenged dogs.

The giant sniffed her hand for a moment before licking it and letting out another boof. He disappeared around the corner of the house.

Claire’s heart thudded uncomfortably. Surely Sawyer hadn’t leaked the information to the press. He had saved her life. And he was one of Kyle’s best friends. But how well did she know him really? She needed to be sure. Maybe it was best to come right out and ask while she still had a witness present.

Sawyer emerged from a side door, tugging his customary black T-shirt over an impressive set of abs. Though she was emotionally distraught and slightly concerned that he was a rat, she wasn’t blind.

“Are you okay?” he asked as soon as he approached. He reached toward her but seemed to think better of it.

“I’m fine. Hey, any chance you leaked the story about the note in my apartment to the press?”

Sawyer did a double take. “Leaked what? The note?”

The cabbie got out of the car and pulled her luggage from the trunk. He paused, also looking at Sawyer.

Claire crossed her arms and stared him down. “Did you tell the press about the note?” Each word was as sharp in her mouth as a dagger.

“God, no.” There was shock in his eyes. “I would never do that to you. To anyone.”

All the signs of genuine surprise were there—wide eyes, expression of disbelief. But she had been fooled before.

“Okay.” He passed for now. But she was going to keep her wits about her.

Sawyer raised his eyebrows but took her bags from the cabbie and thanked him before ushering her inside. Her heart thudded again as she crossed the threshold. There wasn’t any sinister energy emanating from the house. On the contrary, it was well-worn and comfortable, if a bit crowded.

While Luke’s house was one you’d find in a magazine, Sawyer’s was one you’d find if you went to visit your grandma. A hand-me-down oak table and mismatched pair of kitchen chairs stood to her right. The living room, in which every flat surface was crowded with picture frames, was on the left.

“Will you stay here for a minute? I? want to make sure the paparazzi clears off the property,” he said, strolling over to a cabinet and entering a code on a small keypad.

“Sure,” she said as the cabinet door popped open.

Sawyer consulted the contents for a moment before drawing out a shotgun.

Her breath hitched. Was “clearing off the paparazzi” just code? Was he going to shoot her in cold blood?

“Make yourself at home,” he said, gesturing to the mismatched navy blue couch and plaid-patterned armchair. “I’ll be right back.”

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