Page 57 of Calder Country

Mason’s mother was asleep, and the faithful Sidney had retired to his rooms. After letting the dog inside and locking the front door, Mason took time to pocket some extra cash, buckle on his holstered pistol, and shrug into his leather jacket. Exiting through the kitchen, he raced for his car.

As he cranked the engine to a start, a coldness touched his cheek and melted on his warm skin. It was snow.

* * *

With a woolen blanket wrapped over her nightgown, Ruby stood at the window of her hotel room. On the other side of the glass, snowflakes drifted into the alley, vanishing into the darkness below. She’d hoped for a night of restful sleep. Instead, she’d lain awake for what seemed like hours, haunted by a vague sense that something wasn’t right.

She’d long since learned to trust her instincts. But this time the cause was hard to pin down. Was it Colucci? She’d worried about him showing up at her door. But the snowstorm should be enough to keep him on the farm tonight. The door was triple-locked. And just in case, she kept a loaded pistol tucked under the edge of her mattress. She had every reason to believe she was safe.

But as she stood by the window and saw, through the snowy blur, a pair of glowing headlights turning down the alley toward the hotel’s back entrance, her ribs jerked tight, squeezing off her breath.

She couldn’t make out the vehicle. Plenty of people, especially those with something to hide, parked in the alley and used the back stairs. There was no reason to believe the car had anything to do with her. But as it vanished around the corner of the building, her unease lingered. When she heard the heavy tread of boots coming up the stairs to the third floor, she flew to the far side of her bed and drew the small revolver from its hiding place.

The footfalls stopped outside her door. There was a light knock. She didn’t answer. Maybe her caller would give up and go away. Then she heard a man’s deep voice.

“Ruby, it’s Mason. Answer me if you’re there. I need to talk to you.”

Recognizing the voice, Ruby began to breathe again. But was she really safe? All she really knew about Mason was that he was a bootlegger and an associate of Colucci’s.

True, he had saved her after she crashed. And his kiss had roused a surge of passion that she couldn’t forget. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous. She would let him in, but she couldn’t afford to lower her guard.

Thumbing back the hammer on the pistol, she used her free hand to open the door. He stepped inside, his presence filling the unlit room. Still gripping the gun, she locked the door again and faced him. In the snow light that fell through the window, beads of moisture gleamed on his hair.

“What are you doing here?” she demanded. “Who sent you? Was it Colucci?”

“Put that gun away, Ruby,” he said. “My visit has nothing to do with our friend Colucci. But you’re in big trouble.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re not pointing that gun at me. Believe me, I’m the last person you want to shoot.”

Could she trust him? Did she have a choice? She released the hammer and lowered the weapon. “Tell me,” she said. “Where did you hear that I was in trouble?”

“From the man who gave me orders to kill you.”

She gasped, shrinking back from him, almost tripping over the hem of the blanket.

“Sit down,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you, Ruby. I’m just going to tell you what you need to hear.”

She sank onto the edge of the bed. He lifted the gun from her hand, laid it on the nightstand, and sat down beside her.

“Your secret’s been discovered,” he said. “I know you’re an informant for the Bureau of Investigation.”

Her body went rigid. “Who else knows? Colucci?”

“No, not him. Not yet, at least.”

“Then who else? Who told you?”

“The man who actually runs this show—from prison.”

From prison. Ruby’s mind rearranged the things she knew like pieces of a jigsaw puzzle. They slid into place, fitting in ways she would never have believed until now.

Prison. Her father, working in the library. Making friends. Dangerous friends. Sharing secrets in an effort to be liked.

Nothing else made sense. But where did Mason fit into the picture?

“How can that be?” she asked. “I cooperated with the feds because my father was in prison. They faked his death and promised to keep him safe.”

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