Marco’s black Ford Explorer was parked perpendicular to Lula’s driveway, his engine running. Making a U-turn, I parked along the side of the street in front of him. I got out and walked to his driver’s side, wearing my snow boots.

He rolled down his window and said, “Get in. We’ll drive down to her house in my car.”

I walked around the other side and climbed in, nearly salivating over the heated leather seats. I’d had a nice car in my other life—an Acura with a luxury interior and a nice stereo system.

Caroline Blakely would never have thought she’d end up searching a one-room shack for a pregnant waitress who’d been sleeping with a dangerous drug dealer.

He backed up, then turned down the lane, coming to a halt within a few feet of pulling in.

“Did you drive down here before?” he asked, pointing to the drive that was still partially snow-covered.

I wouldn’t have noticed, but now that he mentioned it, I saw some patterns in the mud.

A chill zipped down my spine.

“No. I parked on the street because I was worried I’d get stuck. I didn’t drive down last night either. I dropped her off and watched her walk toward the house.”

He stared out at the lane. “You don’t say. Then I wonder how those tire tracks got there.” Reaching into the backseat, he grabbed a nice digital camera with a long lens. He flipped a switch, turning it on. “Do me a favor and take some photos of those tire tracks.”

I didn’t have to ask why he needed the help. The crutches in the back confirmed that he was still using them, and likely would for weeks to come. “Yeah. Of course, but I thought you weren’t investigating.”

“I’m not,” he countered good-naturedly. “But if this does turn out to be something, then I’m not destroyin’ any evidence. I can’t walk down there, but I can drive on the side and preserve some of the tracks. We’ll get photos of the rest.”

“Okay,” I said.

“Focus on getting photos of the right side of the lane. That’s where I plan to drive.”

“Okay,” I repeated and opened the door as I looped the camera strap around my neck.

Staying to the right, I started snapping photos of the barely visible tracks. The tires had been wide, and now that I was looking, I could see several sections of mud embedded with tire treads. I took a ton of photos, then headed back to Marco’s SUV, handing him the camera once I was inside.

“Are these good?”

He scanned the screen, quickly shuffling through the images. “They’ll work for now. When we come back out, I want you to get closer to those tread marks in the mud.”

“Yeah. Of course.”

He gave me a tight smile. “Let’s go check out the cabin.”

He backed up, giving himself more room to maneuver, and then drove slowly down the side of the lane, so far to the right of the lane that tree branches scraped the side of his vehicle.

When the shack came into view, Marco’s jaw tightened. “Shit. I can’t believe she was livin’ like this.”

“She told me she’s been living here alone since she was sixteen.”

He stared at the house for a few seconds, his forehead wrinkling. Finally, he released another heavy sigh. “Okay. Let’s go check it out.”

He opened his car door and started to get out.

“Let me get your crutches,” I said as I hopped out. But by the time I made it around the car, Marco was already standing at the back door, grabbing his crutches from the backseat.

He grinned when he glanced up. “I’m a pretty self-sufficient guy. Much to the ladies’ dismay. A few of them would love nothin’ more than to wait on me hand and foot.”

“Most men would love that,” I teased.

“Not this guy. I make no secret that I like a good tumble in the sheets and no commitment.” He got the crutches positioned under his armpits, then shut the door. “Okay, let’s go.”

I expected him to make slow going of getting to the house, but he’d obviously regained quite a bit of strength since I’d last seen him—a surprising feat given he was also recovering from an abdominal wound.

“The porch is rotten in a lot of places,” I warned him, “so be careful.”

“Yeah,” he said with a frown. “I can see that.”

I walked up first, testing the floorboards so he knew where it was safe to step. I knocked on the door again, calling out Lula’s name to be sure she hadn’t returned, then opened it so Marco could hop across the porch of doom into the house.

The room was darker than before, in part because I’d extinguished the lantern and in part because the sun was already setting behind the trees and hill on the western side.

“I don’t have my phone to use as a flashlight,” I said.

“I rarely carry my phone on me since it doesn’t do much good in these parts,” he said as he practically vaulted in the room. He likely didn’t want to take any chances on the porch. “But I guess you’re used to good phone service after living in Atlanta.”

He was talking about my fake past.

His statement seemed innocent enough, but it still caught me off guard. “You have no idea.”

Hobbling over to the potbelly stove, he reached for the side of it, stopping just short of touching the surface. “Yeah, it’s warm.” He grabbed a fireplace poker leaning against the wall, then opened the stove and prodded the coals. “There’s no central heat in this place. She might have left embers to keep the place warm until she came home.”

“The lantern on the chest of drawers was lit,” I said, moving toward it. “I extinguished it before I left. I didn’t want to risk her house burning down.”

He glanced around with a grimace. “Doesn’t look like she’d lose much if it did.”

While I could see where he was coming from, it was her home.

“I think someone came and got her,” I said. “And she left in a hurry—look.” I pointed to a hook on the wall behind the door. “That’s the jacket she was wearing last night.”

Marco spun around to look it over. “This thing can barely be considered a coat. She probably grabbed a heavier one before heading out into the snow. Did you see footprints outside when you approached before?”

I cringed. “I didn’t look. But where’s her shotgun?”

“What?”

“She told me she has a shotgun for protection, but I don’t see one and there aren’t many places to store one.”

Marco leaned on his crutch while his gaze scanned the room. “There.” He nodded to the front door. “There’s a couple of nails protruding from the logs. I bet she kept it there.”

I went over to exam it and frowned. They didn’t look like much, just a couple of large nails jutting a couple of inches out of a log. I was going to have to take his word for it. “If her gun’s missing and she left without her jacket and didn’t douse the lantern…”

“Let’s take a peek at those prints now,” he said in a grim voice.

Getting outside was trickier for him than getting in, but he reached the bottom step, his mouth pinched tight with pain.